


the light we seek

by wastelandfrenzy



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Band of thieves, Cyrodiil, Dark Brotherhood Questline, F/M, Found Family, Marauders, Pre-Oblivion Crisis, Romance, Skooma Addiction, Skyrim - Freeform, The Arena, depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandfrenzy/pseuds/wastelandfrenzy
Summary: Wrenched from her home in anguish and grief, a lighthouse keeper begins her journey across Cyrodiil seeking revenge and descends into a guild of assassins, torn between the struggle of light and dark.--"I run with two other partners," the woman continued."And let me guess, you don't come up to people in this manner often.""Yes. Most would have a moral objection to thievery."At the word 'thievery,' Kel felt a little shiver in her spine that she did not understand. "And I look just depraved enough for you to recruit?""Determined.""And how does determination relate to moral objection?""It doesn't. It reveals your likelihood of following through on a job. Your willingness to kill another for sport and gold in the Arena is what speaks to your moral alignment."





	1. one

_i._  
The cool wind from the sea dashed across Kel's chapped face as she knotted the thick twine of her fishing net. It had taken nearly an hour to repair the hole in it and her fingers were striped red from tightening and pulling.

When she could no longer hear the distant, heavy thud of the axe against the chopping block, she set aside the newly mended net and climbed to her feet.

"Corwin?" she called toward the lighthouse. Her voice was lost in the wind and the cry of seagulls. When she climbed back up the hill she expected to see him practicing his sword stances. "If you haven't finished splitting that wood by _now_ then I'll know for certain you're the weakling of the family."

The axe was indeed abandoned against the block like she'd suspected, but Corwin was nowhere to be found.

She shaded her eyes from the setting sun and spotted him way down the front path on the narrow bridge of land connecting their lighthouse to the rest of the waterfront, bidding farewell to two strange figures in odd clothing.

When he traipsed back up the walkway Kel waited for an explanation as to who the strangers were.

He didn't offer one. 

"We have less than an hour before nightfall," she said to him.

"No kidding. Don't give me that face. I'm already finished chopping." He gestured to a neat stack of wood with a flourish.

"I'm not hauling this up to the top myself this time."

"I wouldn't dream of it. How long do you plan on holding that over my head? Here we go, half each."

Though there was always work to be done at the lighthouse, their main priority remained constant: to keep the signal burning in the darkness. The threat of their own men being dashed to bits against the cliffs in the inky night loomed over them. If they neglected to keep the fire lit, the blood would be on their hands.

Corwin and Kel's father, Wilbur Claevius, had been a dutiful lighthouse keeper for seventeen years. The Claevius family did not own the home built snug up against the lighthouse, but after their father died none of the Anvil city officials took any offense with Wilbur's children continuing to occupy the property. So long as the fire stayed lit, they were happy.

* * *

  
  
_ii._  
The next morning Kel woke with the dawn. The sun was just beginning to rise, the sky periwinkle behind the morning mist. She straightened her bedclothes and dressed quickly against the chill, splashing her face with water from the pitcher on her bureau.

Shivering, she gripped her elbows and came downstairs to find the kitchen cold. The stove had not been lit and there was no clean water for breakfast. She bounded back up the narrow stairs and rapped her knuckles against Corwin's door on the landing.

Annoyed, she called through it, "You were meant to have water boiling by now."

Rustling on the other side, and then: "It's your morning."

"You know good and well it was _your_ turn for breakfast! I was up in the middle of the night to check the signal."

She gave the door a sharp kick and went back down to the kitchen store room. Retrieving the remaining loaf of yesterday's brown bread, she cut two thick slices from it and wiggled her feet into her wading boots by the front door.

Corwin emerged from upstairs with a scrunched face and disheveled hair.

"It's your own fault for staying out so late," she said, handing him one of the bread slices. "Net's not going to drag itself, right?"

His movements were sluggish and measured and she wondered at his recent behavior. Where was the model of self-discipline that she had grown up with? Had she imagined all those years of him barging into her room in the early dark of the morning? _Up with the sun, Kel! The net won't drag itself, you sluggard._

However tired they felt, lying around was never an option. In order to eat, one had to work—and Corwin understood this, which is why he stood in the water just as they did every morning, teeth clenched against the chill and sweat forming on the back of their necks as they cast the net into the water over and over, heaving it back in with calloused palms.

Later as the sun crept higher into the sky it began to burn off the customary fog and they could see ships in the distance approaching their harbor. Kel filled a basket with freshly caught fish and all the extra leeks and tomatoes she'd picked out of her garden.

She made her way down the path and past the docks to enter the towering doors of the city gate. Fortunately she was just in time for the market stalls to open and she weaved her way through the buzzing crowd.

Anvil, like most harbor cities, served as a major hub for trade and travel and brought in plenty of exchanged goods, not to mention frequent visitors from far-off places. They were nestled all the way to the west in Cyrodiil, surrounded by the Gold Coast and the Abecean Sea.

It was not the only city accessible by water, however. The Imperial City, much larger and grander, sat in the very center of Cyrodiil, and it boasted a waterfront as well. However, it was so over-regulated and strict that nothing worthwhile ever happened there, in Kel's opinion. Unfair exchange rates. No culture or life. Just drab, gray ships floating in and out of the harbor in straight lines like knights in block formation. Not at all like Anvil—vibrant red-tiled roofs and orange skies. Pirates with bright clothing and gold teeth and tales of the sea.

Kel had heard the same list of grievances against her beloved Anvil her whole life. It was dirty, full of crass sailors, too much brawling, not enough guards to go around and other things of the sort. People just didn't appreciate the city the way she did.

To her it was brilliantly golden sunrises, freshly-caught seafood with melted butter, cool air from the ocean, warm tans in the summertime, and the hottest peppers in all of Cyrodiil. It was the place where she had learned to sail and climb and ride a horse. Running wild up and down the coast. Scaling the shallow cliffside up to the Lady Stone ruins with Vander. Hiking up the Colovian Highlands with her father and brother and constructing tents right there on the hillside, preparing the hares they'd trapped for a campfire stew.

She was torn from her reminiscing when Astia Inventius called to her from a fruit stall. "Kel, over here! You won't want to miss Dahlia's strawberries this morning. She's giving them up at half price."

"Won't spend money on those today." She shook her head. "I found a wild patch up in the Colovians. Cleaned it out."

"Always scrimping and saving, you two."

"How else is one to survive?"

"Did your morning haul go alright?"

Kel lifted the lid of her basket. "Practically nothing in the net."

"Oh, but look at the size of those plump tomatoes," Astia exclaimed. "The only lot I could suss out were dreadfully green and small. I'm snatching those up quick. Oh and here, honey, Pinarus heaved home quite a bundle yesterday."

Astia's husband was a hunter and spent most of his free time scouring the outskirts of the Gold Coast perfecting his marksman skill. The Inventius family had the best meat supply in the city. Astia herself had no garden, being more fond of painting in her spare time, and sought highly after Kel's produce.

"Was that your brother I saw leaving the Flowing Bowl last night?"

"Most likely. That's where he seems to favor spending all of his time lately," Kel admitted.

"It was well into morning when I saw him, truth be told. The witching hour. Couldn't sleep myself due to that howling wind. Anyway, it's not likely he'll be accepted into the emperor's army if he doesn't stick to his training regiment."

"No need to tell me. I've said this and more and it doesn't seem to make a difference."

Astia gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. "Probably just restlessness. No doubt impatient for the next part of his life to begin." She said these last words very suggestively, and gestured across the thick of the crowd to Beatrice Gene standing on her toes and craning her neck, searching for someone. Having spotted Kel, Beatrice picked her way through the sea of merchants over to the fruit stall.

"I thought that was you," Beatrice said with a smile. "And how is your garden coming along this month?" Though Kel thought she was a pleasant enough person, she didn't flatter herself into thinking that Beatrice was actually interested in her garden.

"Well enough, indeed." Kel exchanged a knowing glance with Astia that Beatrice didn't catch as she was preoccupied in casually scanning the square behind them.

"So...will Corwin be joining us this morning?" Beatrice's attempt at sounding aloof now that she had breached her true topic of interest fell flat.

"Not today."

"Oh." She drew her eyes to the stone pavement, the mild breeze blowing her hair. "Well, please tell him thank you very much for the arrowroot powder he left for me."

"Absolutely."

Beatrice made polite inquiries after Astia's husband before exchanging farewells and falling back into the stream of the crowd. Kel could understand her disappointment. Beatrice worked in the castle, and seldom left it excepting days when she came to market, making it the greatest chance she had to run into Corwin. Her affection was not one-sided, however. Corwin was forever leaving small presents for Beatrice in the castle courtyard, knowing that one of her morning duties included tending the Countess's water hyacinth plants and would be the one to find the parcels he left in the flower beds. He feigned ignorance when confronted by any party, but it was no mystery that the rare and useful plants and ingredients left there were from him.

Corwin, having paid significant attention to their father's instruction during their childhood camping trips, had become quite the accomplished herbalist. He knew where to find the most useful and elusive plants like the aloe vera, goldenrod, and lady's mantle that were native to their Gold Coast. He had supplied the local healer with ingredients on more than one occasion, and even the highly secretive and pompous Mages Guild alchemists condescended to emerge from their solitary fortress every so often to seek a rare herb that Corwin knew exactly where to find. So who else would be leaving bits of fennel and arrowroot in carefully wrapped parcels for Beatrice to find?

Many nosy Anvil tenants knew about this unconventional courtship they had begun and monitored it with great entertainment—hence Astia's suggestive tone to Kel.

When Rusia Bradus spotted them and began viciously gossiping about Mirabelle down at the Fo'c's'le with Astia, Kel moved on to continue her errands.

The square was a blur of colorfully woven rugs, the perfume of fresh-cut flowers, smoke from the street vendors' sizzling meats, and the buzz of gossip and price haggling. She traded away the rest of her fish and vegetables for rice, sugar, and a thick wedge of cheese. She wound her way to the north of town when the crowds started to die down as the sun heated further still. An expanse of white clouds lingered tantalizingly in the distance, teasing them with the promise of shade or rain, but any experienced Anvil native knew that they'd burn off before they reached them.

After exiting the city through the north gate she approached the wooden sign for the Horse Whisperer Stables. Its owner, Ernest Amall, sat easily in his chair on the porch, watching his animals. The old man had thrown his back out years ago and had since been confined to tasks that allowed him to sit, like managing the accounts and far-off visitors that came specially to inquire after their fine horses. Ernest and his wife Clesa bred the only white horses in Cyrodiil.

"Vander'll be sorry he missed you," Ernest said to her as she came up the walk. "He's up at Whitmond farm today."

"I saved you the last of my tomatoes."

"My favorite, these are! My favorite."

Kel smiled. He said the same thing every time she dropped by to bring him tomatoes. She could recite his next line along with him.

"Damned things just won't grow in my garden. Supposed to grow anywhere, but they won't grow here."

"A damned shame," she agreed solemnly, shaking her head.

When she re-entered the north gate to cut back through the city, she spotted Beatrice about to enter the Count's Arms. Remembering her dejected expression, Kel couldn't help calling out to her. 

"Kel, I'm glad to run into you again. I was hoping you could let it be known to Corwin that I've been given a day of leave this upcoming Sundas. The Countess will be away traveling and I'm not needed."

This gave Kel the opportunity she was hoping for. "We'd like to have you come dine with us that day if you're able."

Beatrice accepted her offer with a bright smile and twin spots of color in her cheeks. Maybe seeing Beatrice in a more casual setting would set Corwin right again. He'd been walking around in a haze, distracted by something heavy that he refused to bring up.

As Beatrice disappeared inside the Count's Arms, three strangers emerged from within in a single file line.

Anvil saw many foreign visitors, but most of them came from the nearby Hammerfell or Valenwood, the countries next to their southern border, or else they came by sea. The visitors in front of Kel were Nords, and they were very clearly from the far north.

Nords lived all throughout Cyrodiil, of course, but _these_ Nords looked like they had just stepped fresh off of the frozen hellscape that made up the mountains of Skyrim. Although they had shed their customary bundled winter attire to adjust to Anvil's warm climate, the tattoos on their faces and the carvings in their hunting gear strapped so prominently to their hips made it obvious that they were not from around here. Indeed they appeared to have captured the frigid cold of their home in their very gazes, looks of ice in their eyes as they breezed past Kel without so much as a sideways glance.

She brushed off this strange encounter and continued to the south gate that led to her Waterfront. She thought again of Astia Inventius's words. _No doubt impatient for the next part of his life to begin._

What did the next part of her own life look like? They were both in transitory periods, suspended in the uncertain. With their father dead and no occupation, they'd turned to herbs, vegetables, and fish to bring in money. Their father had been legally employed by the harbormaster Newheim the Portly and received a meager salary, but Newheim offered no such monetary compensation to them, on the grounds that "the children should be grateful enough for room and board."

Kel was under the impression that Corwin meant to join the Imperial army and marry Beatrice. The monotony of her lighthouse chores suited her well enough now, but after a year? Five? Ten? Settling into the routine of a life chosen freely was one thing. A forced life based off circumstances of birth was another entirely.

* * *

  
  
_iii._  
When Sundas approached, it brought with it a brilliant pink sunrise, one that splashed across the expanse of clouds above them, the air laden with the smell of salt.

Kel started a roasted hare with onions early on. The bread finished baking, and Astia had brought them a pie the day before. Beatrice came in the afternoon and provided plenty of sweet smiles and compliments to brighten up even Corwin. After everybody had eaten their fill some fresh air was proposed, and Kel sent them on ahead under the pretense of clearing the table.

She had no intention of joining them. After ten minutes passed she came down the front walk and turned to the left, the opposite direction of the waterfront, and began to climb the wide tall rocks that made up the hillside. At the top sat a large vertical stone, said to possess magic. It was twice as tall as Kel, with ancient runes carved into the front. Similar stones could be found throughout Cyrodiil. This one depicted a birthsign; the Lady Stone. She enjoyed hiking up here to sit in its shade with only the sea and the sky in her view.

Beatrice's voice floated up to her. "I had no idea you'd accomplished so much research!"

"The book's not finished yet. I've been working on it these last twelve months. I wanted to be sure to collect every detail I could about one plant before moving on to the next one."

"And these sketches! So detailed and precise."

Beatrice and Corwin were on the beach directly below her. When she leaned over the edge of the rocky hill she saw them sitting in the sand together, bent over a brown leather bound book filled with Corwin's sketches and notes on different plants.

"It was the best way to keep track of all I've learned. My mother started the book, actually. She did this first page, see the handwriting? She died before she could work on any more of it."

"Do you remember her?"

"Just a glimpse. My oldest memory."

Beatrice brushed her hair away from her face against the breeze. "You're intent on joining an army rather than pursue your talent at herbalism? By the looks of these pages you're very passionate about it."

Corwin looked away from the book. "It's an interest of mine, but not a living. It's not fit to put food on the table."

Beatrice looked away as well, unsure what to follow with.

It was time to find somewhere else to sit, and Kel rose quietly to retreat. At the base of the hill Vander Amall came into sight. He ambled down their front walk. Brown-skinned and tall, but slight of build—one might even say scrawny, and with a head of thick dark hair.

"What's this? Kelrine Claevius sitting by herself up at the Lady Stone? Who could have possibly guessed!"

"Yes, you've exposed my utter predictability."

"I heard from my father that you dropped by earlier in the week with tomatoes."

"He loves them so much, I've never seen anyone else get so excited over a vegetable."

Vander laughed, revealing a straight row of teeth. "Well, I've left you half a sack of potatoes at your door, as I know they happen to be _your_ favorites."

"I guess I really am predictable. Thank you for thinking of us."

"And likewise to you. How did Corwin's lady visitor leave you?"

"She hasn't left yet. They're still on the beach." She jerked a thumb behind her.

"Is that so!" he said in an exaggerated tone. "It must be going very well for him then."

"I hope."

"You'll gain a sister yet."

"It's too early for that kind of talk."

"I'm speculating."

"Where's the point in that? Whatever happens will happen."

"Very sensible. And solemn, I would add." Here he looked as if he might be building up to something, but he put a lid on whatever thought he was having and did not continue.

"How are all of your horses?" She asked a bit too quickly.

"Hearty as ever. We've got a buyer from Cheydinhal expected tomorrow."

He meant to take over Horse Whisperer Stables once his parents grew too old to work. It was a good thing, as nobody could handle or train those horses as expertly as Vander. With a naturally low voice and a gentle disposition, he'd never met a horse that hadn't taken to him.

"There you are," Vander said over her shoulder. Corwin stood behind, Beatrice apparently having left him. "We're still heading to the Flowing Bowl?"

"I'll meet you there, have a drink without me."

Once Vander said his goodbyes and retreated toward the waterfront, Kel expected Corwin to thank her for taking the initiative to invite Beatrice.

Instead his expression only read gloomy and dark. "That was a rotten move, inviting her behind my back like that."

"'Behind your back'?" she echoed. "That seems dramatic. Rotten move how?"

"You didn't think to mention or even ask if I wanted her over for dinner."

"I told you beforehand and you said nothing!"

"You'd already asked her, we couldn't very well rescind the offer."

"Why the hell would you rescind it? You're in love with her and half the town knows it. I was trying to help."

He scrunched his fingers into his temple. "That's what I'm trying to say, it's very obvious why you invited her, and now you've sparked useless hope with Beatrice _and_ got the whole town whispering, expecting my imminent proposal!"

"Never mind what any of them think, but what d'you mean by useless hope?"

"I'm not going to ask Beatrice to marry me. Why do you think I've been taking such lengths to avoid her around town?"

"How can you say you don't love her?"

"I didn't."

"But you won't marry her."

"Correct."

"You've lost me."

"I need to wait before I can marry her. I need to make something of myself."

"You're healthy, responsible, and hard-working."

"I'm not talking about my supposed attributes, I'm talking about my assets. What I have to offer her."

"So, money?" She smiled. "Beatrice works as a castle servant. She's no more used to riches than you or I."

"But I think of my future children." He grew indignant now. "When our father died we were left with nothing and we feel the ramifications of that still! I know how you suffer."

"I don't suffer."

"You _do_. In the same way that I do. You're too smart and too strong to live such a passive life. You weren't raised to be passive. Neither of us were. I have ambitions outside of this city and you should also. You should be out there running a line of shops or a fleet of ships, making a name for yourself same as me."

She didn't know how to respond. This outburst was the most he'd said to her in weeks. He held a tendency of letting his troubles fester in his mind. Their father had warned him that it would rot him from the inside out.

"I'm sorry, then. I thought I was doing you good by inviting her."

But by now he was emerged in deep thought. The sun started to set in a fiery orange sky and Corwin followed after Vander for the tavern.

* * *

  
_iv._  
The night that the signal fire went out, Kel was away.

She'd been up the road just north of Anvil having dinner at the Brina Cross, visiting an old childhood friend.

Kel had a full view of Anvil from the top of the hill and when she stepped outside in the dark to leave, her heart stopped cold.

The lighthouse was black.

No glowing little pinprick at the top of the tower. She sprinted downhill back to the city. They had never once let the signal die during the night. What was Corwin _thinking_?

By the time her footsteps clattered up the front steps she was so out of breath that she almost didn't hear the crash that came from inside. She swung the door open wide to see Corwin being heaved from amongst the wreckage of their kitchen table by twin fistfuls of his shirtfront and pinned heavily against the wall. The assailant was a Nord man with hair so pale it looked white and Kel recognized him from the Count's Arms. 

"Wh—"

"Take her!" The second voice came from a woman. A tattoo snaked down her angular face, ice blue in the unnaturally bright moonlight spilling into the windows. A third intruder staked out by the door that she hadn't noticed threw a thick arm around her neck from behind her. She fought and did her best to kick him, but the only effect this produced was his arm further constricting her throat until she was forced to quit struggling.

"Who is this?" the woman demanded. She wielded a vicious-looking blade with an ornate design on the handle that Kel could not make out in the dim.

"Just let her go!" Corwin said from against the wall. "She doesn't have anything to do with this."

The man pinning Corwin to the wall said with the haughty air of an informant, "This is the sister. Kelrine."

"I forgot there was a sister," the woman said thoughtfully, approaching Kel. "How irresponsible of you, Corwin, to endanger your life in such a cavalier manner when you have a baby sister to take care of."

"She seems grown enough to me. Perhaps she don't need much looking after anymore." The man's breath was hot against her ear and she began to struggle again.

"What are you doing in our house?" Her voice wavered in both fury and restriction from the man's arm.

"We're here to collect," the woman answered, nodding toward Corwin.

"We'll have our payment, whether it be money or a life. His time's up."

Kel noticed that the man holding Corwin looked nearly identical to the woman with the dagger. The tattoos threw her off at first but there could be no doubt that they were related to each other.

"Unfortunately for him, we've found no payment in this dump," the woman continued, now approaching Corwin with her weapon.

"I have money!" Kel said with a gasp as all the air left her lungs at once in panic. "I do, I have three hundred gold septims in the cellar!"

The Nord stopped in her tracks, but only to have a hearty laugh with the other two. Kel kicked the man behind her and tried to wriggle free once again while she felt his whole body rumble with raucous laughter at her offer of her life savings, apparently quite measly to them. This time when he tightened his arm her vision swam and blackened for an instant and she was forced to still once more.

"A mere three hundred septims? You have _no_ idea the kind of stakes your idiotic brother has been playing at. Looking around this hovel I can't begin to imagine what he needed so large a sum for. Toralf, hold him still!"

Corwin began to struggle, fear blooming in his eyes at the purposeful way that the woman advanced on him.

"Stop! We can get you money," Kel said.

"'You just need some time,'" the woman quoted. "I've done this enough times to have heard it before."

Kel stared in disbelief. "How do you expect to be paid if he lies dead?"

"This has gone beyond money. He's made a fool of us one too many times and he'll serve as an example to others who cross us. It's over."

"With your brother standing beside you even, you would rob me of my own?" It was only a guess that the two were siblings, but the woman's reaction told Kel she had guessed correctly.

The woman gave pause and turned to give her a once-over, as if recalculating a previous assessment. "What a strong sense of honor you hold to a complete stranger."

"I guess it's naive to expect decency from criminals," she spat.

"This isn't about robbing you of a brother. This is about business. Perhaps you'll understand when you have more experience of the world."

She turned and slit his throat from ear to ear.


	2. two

_i._  
Kel opened her eyes to stare at the blue ceiling. It was morning.

Her breath fogged lightly in the bitter cold. Mist clung to her sheets and to her skin. She sat up mechanically to pull the window shut above her bed. She'd forgotten to close it before she went to sleep. Lowering herself back down into the damp sheets, she slid her eyes closed again.

Though it was two hours before she opened her eyes again to rise, she did not sleep.

The noises outside were all the same. The seagulls, the bell ringing on the dock, the crashing waves. It didn't seem fair. Everything had changed, and it wasn't right that things were carrying on outside as usual.

She went down into the kitchen and out the front door, following the sound of an axe sinking into a block of wood. Vander Amall was at the chopping block, steadily adding to a tall stack of split firewood. When he noticed Kel he halted midswing and nearly lost his grip on the handle.

"Thank you for lighting the signal all this time. It won't be necessary anymore."

Vander put down the axe and swiped an arm across his wet forehead. "Why not?"

"It isn't your job. Your parents will soon lose money in your absence at the stables."

"Kel. My parents are fine, as are the horses."

"It isn't right."

"Come on, we're old friends. You needn't speak on terms of propriety. Of _course_ I'm going to help out." He paused. "Now that he's gone."

"Ulfgar Fog-Eye will be taking over as lighthouse keeper," she said, ignoring him. She had no wish to speak of Corwin. "He's had his eye on this place ever since my father died. Let him worry about the damned signal."

Now he looked alarmed. "And where are you supposed to live?"

"Imperial City. I'm leaving."

"Like hell you are!"

"I've already made the arrangements with Newheim."

"What in the world do you intend to do in the Imperial City?"

"Learn to fight and join the Arena."

"Now I know you're joking. That's ridiculous."

"I've already packed."

"How can you be so callous? Listen to yourself!" he said with an incredulous expression. "You're speaking of leaving your home and everyone you know in the same way you'd speak about the weather! You need to slow down and really think about this."

"That's all I've done. I'm finished thinking about it. Azzan won't admit me into the Fighter's Guild, and this is all I'm left with."

Two weeks earlier she'd marched into the guild and spoken to Azzan about joining. He grew uncomfortable, just like everyone else had acted around her lately, as if her very presence was depressing.

"Look, Kel," he'd said. He reached an arm up to scratch behind his head. "I was really close with your old man."

"I know that, which is why I'm asking for work."

"He wouldn't want this harsh lifestyle for you."

Azzan had always claimed how close he was to Wilbur Claevius, but Kel wondered if the man had even known him at all.

"That isn't true," Kel answered.

He shifted his feet. "You've got no training and I'm not about to send a slight thing like you headfirst into peril."

"So train me and _then_ send me out!" Kel gestured angrily to the door ajar next to them that led into the training room. Many of its inhabitants had ceased their rigid sword formations and strikes in order to stare at the lighthouse keeper's daughter causing such a scene in the middle of the guild entryway. "You're supposed to let everybody have a fair chance!"

He said nothing to refute this, and looked away with pinched lips. "You could have your pick of any man in this town. You could make a nice life for yourself, you know, safe and sensible."

"You truly refuse me entry?" She looked him dead in the eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kel. I can't let your father down like this."

Her response had been some jumble of curses, spit like venom before she left his sorry guild.

His face had looked much like Vander's did now, looking down at her like she'd completely lost her mind. "I think Azzan was right to turn you away," he said stubbornly.

"How can you say that?"

"Because this is clearly a reaction to Corwin's death, and you should give yourself longer to grieve before you make life-altering decisions! This isn't the way to handle a loss."

"What would you know of it?"

"He was my best friend, too." His words sounded equally bitter as hers had. He tilted his head toward the sky as if pleading for assistance from the gods. The wind picked up, whipping her auburn hair around her neck.

"If only I'd been there," he sighed into the air.

"Been there to what?" She grew angry. "Exactly what fighting skills could you have put to use? You are the _same_ as me: defenseless! I don't say it to hurt your pride or your feelings, but only to make a point. Wouldn't you like to be able to defend yourself? Protect your family and the people you love? Why shouldn't I be allowed to do the same? I never want to feel helpless _again_."

Her voice was clear and it cut through the wind the same way her resolute tone cut through Vander's initial resolve. He could say nothing in response.

"I'm leaving," she repeated. "And I won't be persuaded out of it."

* * *

  
_ii._  
Kel had traveled the road to the Imperial City before. Their father had taken her once. Following the road out of Anvil led past the neighboring city of Kvatch. The surroundings grew leafier and thicker here on the east road that led past Skingrad. Skingrad was laden with vineyards, both sweet for eating, and sour for wine. Beyond that, the Gold Road, Kel's favorite path in all of Cyrodiil. The trees were tall and grand amongst the emerald leaves of the Gold Road, and the fields spilling over with lavender in the West Weald were visible from here as well. Once the road ran into Lake Rumare, it was only a short ways to the massive bridge leading into Imperial City.

There was nothing beautiful or exciting about Kel's journey this time around.

The sky remained overcast, blanketed in clouds. She rode in the back of a chicken cart all the way to a farm right next to the lake, and she paid handsomely for it. Her purse significantly lighter, she began the tedious crossing of the great bridge. The guards in front of the gates were mere specks across the stone expanse. When she reached the gate and the guards asked her business in the city, she told them that the Arena was her destination. The guards exchanged a look with each other but said nothing, motioning her inside.

The stone buildings were tall, everything orderly and paved in grey and white. It didn't seem quite as overwhelming to her in the same way it had been when she was a child, but the paths were stuffed with people and not likely to clear anytime soon.

She had never seen the Arena before, but it proved simple enough to follow directions to it. It took up its own district on the eastern side of the city and was marked clearly. The Arena housed fighters and held matches of every rank. No other city in Cyrodiil boasted such entertainment and as such, men traveled from all over the world to bet large sums on these intense battles. The surviving fighters were awarded increasingly large amounts of gold for participating, namely because the battles were to the death.

But of course this was the reason spectators paid such an obscene amount of coin.

Kel found the Arena district to be filled with two types of people: fans and spectators that gathered around the entrance in clumps, and the scrawny men and women training clumsily under the shelter of a terrace. The Arena itself was a large circular stadium, with stands surrounding the center pit where the matches took place.

She camped outside with the other trainers and began to lose track of the days.

They kept their bedrolls nearby when the sun went down and their dinner fire went out. When the sun rose they ate and began training daily without fail. Kel was permitted to join this routine so long as she put her share of coins into the communal fund that supplied them all with bread and meat.

It felt easy to lose herself in this routine. Back in Anvil, every ship and thunderstorm, every corner she turned and person she saw reminded her of Corwin and her father. Here in this drab, overcrowded metropolis, she could almost forget that her family had ever existed.

The memory from that night rattled around in her skull like a pebble trapped in a shoe. She'd been struck unconscious after the Nords left Corwin in a heap on their kitchen floor. When the darkness persisted and still the signal fire remained unlit, concerned neighbors had made their way down the seldom-used path of the waterfront that led to their lighthouse.

The harbormaster, Newheim, reached them first and made a swift cry out to the guards. Kel, found crumpled on the floor, had looked to be dead at first sight, but when it was ascertained that she breathed yet, the guards made haste to remove her from the horrific scene before she woke.

It was Vander's face she saw first upon waking—hollow with fear. Her head hurt worse than anything she'd ever felt before from the blow of the Nord's fist. She'd wanted to see Corwin; she wished to see the proof of his death with her own eyes, but Dumania, who had come from the Chapel Undercroft, informed her that no, that would not do. There would be no laying out of the body as it was quite unfit to be seen. The guard standing nearby ushered Dumania and Vander away to inform Kel sternly that she must be questioned as to the circumstances of her brother's death immediately.

Afterward, nobody in town could identify the three strangers that had passed through as quickly as a south wind from the sea. The proprietor of the Count's Arms confirmed that yes, they had paid for three rooms and lodged for four days only, but he had not received names from any of them.

_Toralf, hold him still_, the woman had ordered. The man that had held Corwin against the wall was named Toralf. Kel told this to the guards and they recorded the name into their account, but this clue did not prove enough to move forward.

She'd heard the explanations. How Corwin had been desperate to earn money beyond his means. How he'd spent night after night gambling with money he didn't have, certain that he'd be able to turn his luck around. How he'd dug himself into a deeper pit than he could ever emerge from. How he'd dodged them for weeks.

Within a fortnight, the inquiry into the murder was abandoned. They stopped looking for the Nords.

The funeral in the Chapel cemetery held a large crowd, much larger than it would have been if Corwin had died of natural causes. The whispers of the invasion burned Kel's ears like hot pokers. The mound of earth beneath his headstone that supposedly cradled her brother in its embrace held no significance to her. Unlike Beatrice Gene, who made a spectacle of herself noisily weeping over it each and every day. Perhaps Kel looked callous for doing nothing of the sort. She had last seen him _alive_, and maybe it was a result of never being allowed to view his body, but she felt as if he were living still.

Their house held an air of anticipation, the feeling of high tension that preceded the moment somebody walked through the door. Surely Corwin would burst into the room quite suddenly, his voice and movements cutting through the stagnation, filling the vacancy once more. She saw him everywhere she looked until it made her sick to look anywhere at all in Anvil.

So she left all that was familiar to her and dwelled in the Imperial City like a vagrant. She learned her fighting stances, ate her meals, tasteless as they were, and took those punches again and again. One of the Argonian men training alongside her named Saliith let Kel borrow his sword on occasion so she could learn the correct method to wield it. It did not come easy; merely holding it up was taxing enough. Sabine, the Redguard woman who also trained there, took one look at the way Kel's arms trembled with exertion from holding up the heavy weapon and swiftly ordered Kel not go anywhere near the Arena bloodworks until she'd trained longer. She also bluntly suggested that Kel stick to her hand-to-hand combat in the meantime.

She liked these people because they shared her single-minded track. They had one thing that drove them, and that was fighting. They didn't ask many questions, and Kel evaded the ones that she was able to.

Sabine was the only one out of them to have actually won three matches. She'd filled her pocket with her earned gold and continued training. Kel asked her one afternoon why she didn't train inside down below with the other Arena members.

She dodged Kel's swing with a graceful swoop. "It smells of death down there. It's distracting. Better to train out in the open." Catching an opening, she swiped the side of Kel's head. Checked, of course, but enough to give Kel a stumble.

Months passed in a blur, and the day Kel voiced her intention of going down into the bloodworks and officially enrolling in the matches, she thought she saw something like disapproval in Sabine's eyes.

Sabine looked up from their porridge paste one morning and said nonchalantly, "You know, if you're looking for a guaranteed income, the Arena is always hiring underlings to clear away the mess after the matches." Kel only glared.  


* * *

  
_iii._  
"You? Fight? Just what are you trying to pull?" Owyn the Blademaster looked down at Kel with contempt.

Sabine had been right about the smell.

The training area was underground beneath the stadium, and had been appropriately christened the Bloodworks due to the gore and blood that seeped down from above. Upon entering she'd seen a flier hung on the wall depicting the Arena's founding Blademaster, Gaiden Shinji.

The Arena had a long and proud history, one that Owyn apparently thought her making sport of when she'd asked for admittance into the competitions. He was a grizzled Redguard dressed in heavy armor, well known for his stormy temper. His lip had curled and the lines on his face grew harsher.

"Who's put you up to this?" It was almost difficult to hear him above the strike of blades against the training dummies.

"Nobody. My name's Kelrine Claevius and I wish to join."

"I've seen you hanging around outside."

"Training," she corrected.

"Training what?"

"Hand-to-hand. With Sabine."

"Sabine, hm?" He shook his head. "How old are you?"

"Old _enough_," she insisted.

"My patience is running out."

"I'm nineteen," she said with reluctance.

Owyn stared at her a beat longer, losing interest as the seconds ticked by. "My lowest rank is pit dog, and you don't look like you could take even them."

"I fail to see how that's any concern of yours. You need asses in the seats, and contestants are the way to do that."

He smirked at her impertinence, looking as if he was now on more familiar ground. "The regulation armor is in the cabinets over there," he said finally. "No fighting in the Bloodworks. No looting your fallen opponent. I don't have anything for you this week, so come back later!"

She gave a quick nod and hurried out of sight in case he changed his mind. The Bloodworks consisted of two large, low-ceilinged rooms connected by several archways. A line of heavily used training equipment stood along one wall, and the cabinets with the armor stood opposite. Dark stains visible upon the walls, slight pools collecting slowly in the corners. There were occasional bedrolls in these corners, the likes of which no sum of money in the world could have persuaded Kel to sleep in. Besides the smell of death rose the pungent odor of sweat, worked up by all the competitors' vigorous training. A nearby hallway sloped upwards, presumably leading to the stadium.

When she opened the doors to the wooden cabinet she found both light and heavy armor within, woven with the gaudy colors of the Arena uniform. There was no hope of maneuvering successfully underneath too much weight and she chose the light raiment, disappointed at the cheaply-made leather. She gave one last uneasy glance around the room and left. Sabine was absolutely right—much better to train outside.

Throughout the next week, Kel noticed more heads turned in the direction of their little training camp under the terrace than usual. Her entry into the Arena had apparently piqued the interest of longtime spectators, and Kel supposed it was because they considered her an easy mark to bet against. She could hear people whispering about her: _Indeed, she must hail from some hot climate, just look at all those freckles beneath her dark tan._

She trained another week while wearing the ugly uniform to get used to the feel of the weight.

One night she spotted Sabine speaking with Owyn the Blademaster in seclusion when she'd come back from the Market district. This might not have been out of the ordinary if they'd been in the Bloodworks, where Owyn discussed all Arena business, instead of the corner of the courtyard hidden in shadow at a late hour. They spoke solemnly for one minute more, and he retreated through the gate to the Elven Gardens district.

When enough time had passed and she approached Owyn in the Bloodworks about a match, he said there was nothing available for her and to come back the next week. As irritating as this was, it felt worse the week after that when he said it _again_. She couldn't help but feel a bit suspicious as well. She wondered what it was about her that made people feel they had the right to intervene in her affairs for the sake of her "own good."

Onward she trained until her muscles ached with exertion. Long after the sun set and she lost her sparring partner to the comforts of sleep, she continued her strengthening exercises, cauterizing any sense of loneliness or grief with distraction.  


* * *

  
_iv._  
The blow sent a burst of stars in the corner of her vision and she staggered to her knees—a fatal move at this stage in the fight.

She'd gotten her match, all right. Kel's opponent was a fellow pit dog she'd often seen down in the Bloodworks. She didn't know her name, but she was one of the trainees that went out of her way to shoot many demoralizing jeers at Kel whenever she was within sight.

They fought strictly hand-to-hand, and her opponent had said first thing, "I'm going to enjoy beating you to death!"

Eventually her mocking ceased as they both gradually drained their stamina the longer the fight had worn on.

Kel did her best to stay light on her feet and keep moving, using Sabine's dodging techniques. The other pit dog threw clumsy fists, slow and easy to anticipate. It looked for a while that Kel had the advantage; she could win this.

All hope of that flew away as soon as that one clumsy punch hit its mark.

The crowd had been growing restless the past few minutes, but at the sight of Kel falling to her knees, the roar surged forward, eager to see the end of it. But she reared back and headbutted her opponent squarely in the stomach, giving herself enough time to scramble to her feet. She landed two quick fists, one-two, but the woman was hardly fazed and continued to advance on Kel.

It hurt to keep moving. Her ribs throbbed with a vengeance and she could taste something bitter and metallic. The next strike made her vision wobble, and the one after that jolted through her already tender abdomen. She struggled to draw in a breath and a distant panic began to claw inside her.

Another fist came, hard enough to crack a tooth and Kel went sprawling to the ground.

The spectators cheered once more, and her opponent took the foolish opportunity to milk her success, facing the crowd and throwing her hands triumphantly in the air, hoping to get a rise out of them. The crowd was large—larger than usual, unable to resist the draw of two fresh young women scrabbling to the death. 

Kel's cheek rested against the ground and involuntary tears spilled out, hot and angry. She could feel the grit of dirt between her teeth. Her own stupidity was a spear to the chest. Was this how she was to die? In a stone pit on display to hundreds of gamblers and without a shred of dignity?

For the first time since Corwin, she felt her own mortality, and it surprised her to find that she didn't wish to die.

Not while his murderers still drew breath.

When the woman pulled a dagger out from underneath the leather folds of her armor, the reaction was split in half. Half were cheers from those who delighted in a dramatic twist of events, and the other half were booing at the injustice of the rules of the match being broken.

Kel feigned as if she would get up, and waited for the lumbering woman to charge her with the blade and when she did, she put every ounce of strength she had into a staggering kick to the woman's knees.

She fell backwards at once, the dagger skittering to the ground. Both made a lunge for the blade, hands clawing desperately through the dust to reach the weapon. They grappled in their fight to the death, her opponent growing more vicious and dishonorable the more it became clear that Kel could hold her own, and dissolved into pulling and biting like a savage animal.

Kel was shocked at how easily human flesh gave way to metal when she sank the blade deep into her opponent's belly. There had been little to no resistance at all.

The woman's eyes widened in shock at Kel getting the drop on her. She bled quickly, and Kel could feel the warmth of it seeping into her own armor. Every spectator was on their feet, trying to make out who had stabbed whom, and when Kel shoved the body off of her and struggled to her feet, the crowd erupted into a flare of indignation and disbelief. She was betting that many of them had just lost a considerable sum of money at the outcome.

Not that Kel heard their shouts. There was a rushing in her ears, drowned out only by her own heaving breaths and pounding heart. Everything looked sharp and slightly frazzled as she dragged her feet across the stadium and back through the door from which she had come. The whole of it had passed so quickly, and she felt caught in a haze.

People slapped her on the shoulder as she passed them in the Bloodworks, jostling her tender ribs.

Their lips moved in the shape of congratulations.

Her coin winnings felt cold against her palm.

"Don't worry," Owyn said. He sounded far away. "They'll get you healed up in no time. Your nose might not look so pretty as before, but I daresay that'd do you some good in this business."

She could feel the eyes of the trainers on her as Owyn spoke, his face bright with excitement. "We've never pulled in so much gold for a pit dog match before! Dozens of bastards out there lost good money tonight. You sure beat the odds, kid. They'll think twice before they bet against you next time."

He kept talking, but of what she did not hear. She stripped off her bloody armor and left. She wasn't ready for this, and had been a fool to think so.

Out of her fifty hard-earned coins, she relinquished nine of them at the Merchants Inn in the Market District for a room. She couldn't bear the thought of sleeping out in the open tonight. The four walls provided a security she couldn't muster in her imagination alone. Locking the door behind her, she heaved in a shaking breath and dropped heavily onto the bed, curling all four limbs together. Everything hurt. Her breath whistled through her nose and one of her fingers was sending shooting pains up past her elbow. She didn't think her rib had broken, but it was sore all the same. It was the first time she'd felt something physical in weeks, like a part of her had just gone to sleep and refused to wake up before now. She doubted she would ever get all of it back, but this at least signified a start.  


* * *

  
_v._  
"I know you. You're the little pit dog."

Kel had felt this woman's eyes on her for the duration of her meal.

She dined in a seedy pub unfortunately named The Feed Bag, which gave the Kel the impression of their customers being equated with farm livestock.

She had ordered an unimpressive meat pie and a sturdy ale and pretended not to notice the Argonian woman sitting at the next table over, blatantly staring at her.

Now the woman spoke to her, and Kel looked up in fiery contempt. "What is it to you?" she asked, prickling after being called a 'little pit dog.' She'd been getting similar attention all over the city since her Arena battle. Both these comments and the lingering pain in her ribs served as constant reminders.

"Your match drew quite the crowd despite the low rank."

"So I've been told."

"I heard all about it. You apparently employed some very fancy footwork to keep alive in there."

"You'll understand if I won't listen to a re-telling. I was there," she said coldly. "If you don't have a point I'll ask you to let me eat in peace."

"My point is direct enough; you looked as if you possessed enough raw talent to be of use to us."

"You're here to recruit me."

"Something of a sort, yes."

"You're wasting your time."

"Don't speak so hastily. Not until you've heard what I have to say." She rose and came to sit at Kel's table with an air of confidence she seemed sure would excuse the impertinence. The Argonian had impressively muscular arms, and she wore a woven tunic beneath a shabby set of stealth armor. "You've gone from training daily in the Arena to slumming around pubs. You're wanting of an occupation. Surely those winnings won't last much longer at this rate."

On this point she was correct; Kel's coin was steadily dwindling. Quitting the Arena had overthrown her entire plan for making a living in the city and she needed to make other accommodations before she was forced to move back to Anvil in disgrace.

"I run with two other partners," the woman continued.

"And let me guess, you don't come up to people in this manner often."

"Yes. Most would have a moral objection to thievery."

At the word 'thievery' Kel felt a little shiver in her spine that she did not understand. "And I look just depraved enough for you to approach?"

"Determined."

"How does determination relate to moral objection?"

"It doesn't. It reveals your likelihood of following through on a job. Your willingness to kill another for sport and gold is what speaks to your moral alignment."

"So, a determined look and a low set of morals." Kel ticked them off on her fingers. "What else are we lucky candidates meant to possess in order to acquire such a prestigious audience such as yourself?"

The woman ignored her mocking tone. "Lightness of foot, which I've mentioned already. And loyalty, but this is proven through time alone."

Kel dug her fork into the meat pie in contemplation. "I suppose on these counts I'm a fair candidate, indeed. Though perhaps my instant abandonment of the Arena is a strike against me in terms of loyalty."

"Hardly. The only thing more foolish than gambling your money is gambling your life."

Kel pushed away the sharp pang that these words induced. It was tempting to turn the offer away.

"I realize you know nothing about me or the women you would be working with. That can be remedied. If you don't wish to stagnate in this stone prison and you desire a steady income, meet us outside the city walls tomorrow evening at sunset. Near the south side." Recognizing Kel's stubborn reticence, she rose to leave.

She stared into her now cold meal, hearing the scrape of the door behind her.

Stone prison, indeed. Imperial City had a draining effect on her nerves and spirit. She felt as if she could be swallowed within its bustling confines. Everything here was noise and aggression. Its only appeal was the anonymity of a large population, and thanks to her Arena match, she couldn't even claim that. She couldn't afford to stay here much longer. Food and amenities cost three times what it did in Anvil. With no home, and no fishing net or garden, she had no way to earn an income. She thought of her lighthouse, and pictured Ulfgar Fog-Eye carelessly letting her garden turn to brown sticks.

After she finished her dinner and drained her ale she floated back to the Arena district like a phantom, deciding not to waste any more of her gold on a room at the inn. Over on the terrace Sabine and Saliith ceased their training for an instant at her approach.

"Owyn will be pleased to see you return," Saliith said expectantly.

Ignoring this, she tossed a coin into their communal pot and dragged an empty bedroll over to a corner to sleep. The next day she left and never came back.  


* * *

  
_vi._  
Just as the sun approached the western horizon, Kel slipped out of the city and walked the perimeter of the outer wall. Perhaps this was a grand scheme to lure her away from any witnesses so they could kill her and take all of her belongings. They would find themselves sorely disappointed; the bag that contained all of her worldly possessions held little. The object of greatest value to her was Corwin's herbalism journal, but it's value was measured in sentiment rather than coin.

"Psst. Hey you." A man dressed in black was lingering next to some shrubs. He gestured into his satchel. "I've got what you need. All the finest wares for your most unsavory needs."

"Step away," Kel hissed. "I'll summon the guards."

His face grew indignant and she heard a giggle behind her.

She whirled, and there stood a pale, bony woman with stringy blonde hair and an even slighter frame than her own. "That's only Shady Sam. He'll do you no harm."

"Unless you've got a taste for skooma," a second voice said. There were three figures in total, and Kel recognized one of them to be the Argonian woman who had approached her yesterday in the pub.

Shady Sam, still affronted by Kel's threat, slunk back to his post.

"We need to move out of earshot of prying wanderers."

Kel followed the three of them down to the edge of the lake.

The Argonian woman extended her hand. "My name is Artena Mach-Na. Strength trainer." Kel could believe it; her fingers had been nearly crushed by Artena's iron vice of a handshake. The setting sun reflected off of the water and illuminated a brilliant streak of blue in Artena's reptilian skin. There was a deadly-looking battle axe strapped to her back.

Camila was the small pale one who'd laughed at her. She reached eagerly for Kel's hand. "I saw your fight in the Arena. Of course I couldn't manage to stay 'til the very end but it was long enough to note how quick you are! I haven't the stomach for that sort of thing, and I told Artena she would've been better off to send Branwen, but she says she won't indulge me any longer."

Branwen Galera was their third, and she possessed an abundance of raven-black hair and even more charm and charisma to boot. With plump cheeks and a mouth pulled into a perfect pout, Kel had no doubt she could talk her way past the meanest of authority figures.

It appeared that Camila would have preferred to go on with friendly chatter, but Artena was quick to move onto business. "We are marauders. We stick closely together and travel frequently.

"We belong to no guild; our choices are our own. As we endeavor on the side of caution, we loot caves and ruins most frequently. When we do acquire a mark in town, it's important that we don't linger too long afterward."

"Basically," Camila said. "If you want to live somewhere nicer than a leaky goblin lair, we might not be the best fit for you. I happen to like our jobs in town far better than cave looting. More agreeable accommodations."

"And higher risk," Artena reminded her. "Tonight we hike south near Bravil. There is a cave just east of the city that is of particular interest to us. Do you swim?"

"Since I could walk," Kel answered.

"Very good. Our destination is Flooded Mine. Will you join us? We can make our decisions after a trial haul."

"Sounds reasonable to me."

The whole thing was settled quickly. It seemed to Kel that Artena was quite a brusque and efficient sort of person. The four of them set off in the twilight. They steered clear of the roads and headed south.

"The guards on night patrol carry those hulking torches," Artena explained. "They attract creatures from a mile away. Contrary to what you might have heard, it is safer to avoid the road at night if you must travel."

The air smelled fresh. Certainly fresher than in the city. Kel felt relieved to be out of there. She could see the gentle glow that the fireflies cast in the field next to them. With the sound of the wind rustling the leaves and the brilliant splashes of stars above her, she could almost feel something akin to peace.

She didn't mean to make it so difficult for them to get to know her, but Camila was asking all the very questions that Kel didn't want to answer. Ones about her family and why she had been battling in the Arena in the first place.

After some time Camila exclaimed, "My word, you talk even less than Branwen."

"Perhaps she prefers different subject matter," Artena said.

"I'm still wondering what I've got myself into," Kel said.

"You wonder why we singled you out over others, no doubt," Branwen observed.

"Yes."

"We've been scouting for a fourth to round out our little party. We're in need of somebody small enough to get herself into tight spaces," she said.

This struck her as funny; Camila was easily the smallest out of them all, and when she said this out loud, Camila piped up, "Yes, but I'm utterly hopeless, you see. Artena is always telling me so." Kel slid her gaze over to Artena, who continued as if Camila wasn't even speaking. She resumed, "I may be very small, but I find tight cramped places to be absolutely unbearable. Just the very thought of being squeezed into a tunnel is making my heart pound. Here, feel. Go on. Artena says that I find too many things 'absolutely unbearable' and that I haven't the nerves for this lifestyle. Truly, she would have abandoned me ages ago if she wasn't so damned incompetent with a pick. Those two ham-fists of hers could never navigate the delicacies of a fine lock."

"Camila." Artena spoke in a low voice, a warning.

"There she goes again, trying to scare me. You don't frighten me, I know you'll behave in front of company."

Now Branwen was laughing. "I imagine she was hoping _you_ would do the same."

"You see how brutally abused I am? I'm glad you've come along," Camila said to Kel.  


* * *

  
_vii._  
The entrance to Flooded Mine was concealed by a low mound of earth settled over the crevice of a large boulder. Artena glanced at Kel over her shoulder. "Better stay behind us until we find you a weapon."

Inside the cave smelled of wet earth and roots. The mine had long been abandoned, and the others felt confident they would encounter little trouble here. Kel couldn't imagine what loot they expected to find here. Drops fell from the ceiling as they advanced, cold and trickling on her neck.

They had a brief encounter with a sickly-looking sewer rat, but before it could even turn to strike, Kel heard the thwip of an arrow and the animal fell dead. Branwen's bow hung at her side, the only evidence that the arrow hadn't materialized from thin air. She had drawn and fired at an astounding rate. As if she could sense Kel's awe, Branwen turned and gave her a smile. When Camila noticed, she complained, "You never let us get any of them!"

Soon the tunnel they walked began to slope downhill, and disappeared completely underwater. "There used to be a large team of men mining down here and when they hacked through the wrong wall and flooded the place with groundwater they were forced to abandon it and take their losses."

"Here's where you come in," Artena said, motioning to Kel. "If you swim down this tunnel you'll reach the main room of the cave. Flooded, of course, but there's an air pocket at the top. All the way down and to the left there's a small opening about this wide." She held her hands a close distance apart. "You'll need to swim down in there and find a large key. It has an ornate handle. Hard to miss."

Kel was bewildered. "How do you know there's a key in that little hole?"

Camila screeched with laughter. "Because _she's_ the one who dropped it down there in the first place, the clumsy oaf! Don't you wonder why an Argonian is asking for assistance with a task such as swimming? They're _born_ underwater. Ooh, yes, just look at her face. It burns her up having to ask a mere human to swim for her. But gods, look at your hips, they're as skinny as a young boy's! You'll fit down there no problem."

"Thank you for your observations," Artena said from between gritted teeth. "But I'm sure we'd all like to be finished with this before dark."

Kel looked at the stagnant cave water with apprehension. This was a lot to do for people she had just met and still wasn't sure they didn't plan to rob and kill her once she gave them what they wanted.

She unlaced her boots and stripped off her outer clothes. She stepped in to her ankles and found the temperature to be mild. Taking a deep breath and questioning her sanity once more, she dove into the tunnel all at once and tried to imagine it was the Abecean Sea that cradled her lighthouse.

The tunnel was short and opened into the deep wide room that Artena said it would. Tendrils of underwater weeds clung to the walls and several old bits of rotting furniture floated around. Kicking her feet, she swam up to the very top to get a fresh breath of air. There was a good meter of space until the ceiling. The cavern was lit by a trickle of sunlight that made its way down a crevice where the rocks didn't quite meet up above her head.

Down she went again, in search of the little hole. Artena's instructions were precise and she found it easily enough, but she hesitated at the size of it. Did she really want to wriggle into that space? She could fit alright, but wouldn't be able to turn around. It became clearer why they'd sought her out. Branwen's wide and voluminous hips would never fit, and Artena's frame was far too broad. Camila could have fit, but she supposed these were the types of tight confining places that she described as "unbearable." While she pondered this she ran out of air and had to swim back to the top.

Better to just get it over with. She mustered her resolve and swam down again._ It's just like the reefs at home, just like the reefs_, she tried to comfort herself. Trying not to cringe at the slime she felt beneath her groping fingers, she made her way headfirst into the crawlspace. The walls of the hole provided enough grip for her to navigate easily enough, and uttered a thankful prayer when her hand closed around something that felt iron and key-shaped. She gripped the walls and backed herself out of the dark space.

When Kel emerged from the flooded tunnel once again, all three faces were taut with expectancy.

"Well?"

"I have it." She trudged out of the water, wringing her short hair out. Her pile of clothes was where she'd left it. "I hope you know the chest it goes to."

"I fished that out some time back. We hid it in a different passage, come."

"Tried every lockpick in my possession," Camila said. "It wants a key and won't open for anything else."

The chest was large and ornate with a similar pattern on the key Kel handed over to Artena, and it looked dented and chipped as if it had sustained multiple swings from an axe. Her clothes stuck to her wet skin and she took the opportunity to lace her boots back up.

The lock made a satisfying click. Camila let out an excited squeal.

"What a score!"

Inside they found a fat pouch of coins, a waterlogged account book of expenses that most likely belonged to the man employing the miners, and several uncut gemstones that looked like they had been freshly plucked out of the stone. "Here we are," Artena said, pleased. She produced a dagger from within and presented it to Kel. "Now you can finally arm yourself."

The sky was almost dark when they came back outside to the sweet scent of foxglove. "We camp here tonight. Kel needs a fire to dry off. Tomorrow we'll go into the city to sell these stones," Artena said with authority.  


* * *

  
_viii._  
That night, they camped behind the boulders marking the entrance to the mine. Branwen pitched tents and Kel speared two large bass from the nearby Niben bay.

"You look as if you've done that an infinite number of times," Artena said after watching Kel scale and flay the fish with deft fingers.

"I suppose I have." She positioned the fish over their meager fire.

"You hail from someplace waterside," Branwen guessed.

"Yes. Anvil."

"Branwen wins again," Camila said from across the fire. "My bet was on Chorrol."

"I don't know much about Anvil," said Branwen. "We don't meet a lot of people from there."

"Yes, most of their residents are not native. They come from other places. It isn't typically thought fit to raise children."

"What, because of the sailors? Sounds like nonsense," Artena said.

"It is. I was none the worse for having grown up there."

"I was born in Skyrim. Have you ever been there?" Branwen asked.

"I've never left Cyrodiil. The furthest north I've ever been is Bruma. And I'll never go back again."

"Ah." Branwen smiled knowingly. "Bounty?"

Kel shook her head. "Cold. I've never felt anything so worse as a Bruma snowfall. Being too hot is miserable enough in its own way. A leap off the docks into the Abecean can take quick care of that, though. But cold? Cold _hurts_. And it doesn't go away."

"It's colder still in Skyrim. If you can't handle Bruma I wouldn't advise venturing any further north than that. I adore the freezing temperatures. Setting up at the hearth with a tankard of mead and a book is a rare pleasure for me," Branwen said.

The fire crackled and Kel turned the fish. "Where do you come from, Artena?"

"Black Marsh."

"Do you like it there?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "It is what's familiar to me."

Kel meant to ask Camila next, but saw that she was fast asleep on her bedroll. "Shouldn't we wake her?" she asked once the fish was cooked through. They shook their heads no and wrapped her share in a piece of parchment.

It was difficult for her to fall asleep that night. The clouds over the Nibenay Valley were thick, and she could only catch an occasional glimpse of the stars lying on her back. She soon learned that Artena and Branwen slept in shifts in order to keep watch. Branwen went first, reading from a little book in the dying light of the fire. Long after the embers turned cold and dead, when the moons reached their height in the cloudy sky, Branwen crawled over to Artena and tapped her on the shoulder to change watch. The shuffling had woken Kel and she struggled again to fall back to sleep.

It occurred to Kel that other thieves or aggressive wildlife might not be the only danger they were looking out for. They could surely be keeping an eye on _her_. She was a stranger to them, after all. Hadn't she thought of the possibility of them robbing her several times that day? This was likely the root of the night's insomnia. Kel couldn't trust them any more than they could her.

At some point in the night Camila woke in some distress. She sat bolt upright and began groping around in the dark for something. Upon finding her wrapped portion of fish, she ate like a ravenous animal before bundling back into her bedroll.

When Kel opened her eyes again there was a pale blue glow to the east. The sun would rise within the hour. All three were sleeping. Her limbs heavy with exhaustion, she traipsed a ways from the camp in search of a tall bush to relieve herself behind.

She regretted missing so much sleep. She rubbed her bleary eyes and when a twig snapped in the brush behind her she was in no way prepared.

A large man barreled at her from behind the trees. He brandished a dirty-looking sword which he swung directly at her.

Kel dodged sideways at the absolute last minute, more from panic than design, and felt the bite of his blade against her shoulder.

He pulled his arm back once more and an unmistakable swish sound preceded the throwing axe that suddenly embedded itself into his throat. The sword slipped from his hand and he reached up to feel the wound.

He dropped to his knees. He made a terrible croaking noise at the sight of his own blood-soaked fingers.

Artena marched over from the tree she'd stood behind. Her movements were quick and agitated. She gripped the handle of her axe and wrenched it from the man's neck with a squelching sound, sending an arc of blood behind her. He pitched forward to the ground.

Artena held up Kel's dagger, the one she had left beneath her pillow. Eyes glittering, she threw it at Kel's feet.

"That you would even _think_ of venturing away from your weapon in the middle of the wilderness astounds me. Highwaymen will kill you over ten septims without blinking an eye."

Kel snatched up the dagger, mortified at her own carelessness. She should have thanked Artena, but the shock of the bright red puddle seeping from underneath the dead man silenced her tongue. Artena was already striding away.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to my readers so far, I know oblivion is much less popular than skyrim haha.  
I have 15k more of this written so it won't be too long before another update.  
apologies for any anachronisms in this story, I did my best to weed them out. it's hard to pin down what real-life era these games are even based on.
> 
> here is a map of cyrodiil if you're interested in tracking the story's movement: https://images.uesp.net/6/69/OB-map-Cyrodiil.jpg

_i._  
Kel hated Bravil. What a complete hole. The place was overrun with criminals, and not the kind that would turn their wrath to the city officials who were gouging the citizens with taxes, but the kind that would turn on their own neighbor, poor stealing from the poor.

The city was constructed almost entirely out of wood, and was very unfortunately situated on the bogs in the rainy Nibenay Valley, ensuring constant humidity which rotted away at the buildings. The dank smell of mold clung to the air no matter where in the city one tried to escape.

Anybody could tell that the Count was squeezing every last coin out of his citizens to maintain the lovely castle and gardens that Bravil boasted. The castle grounds were likely the only thing that Bravil _could_ boast of; the shacks that their people lived out of were nothing to be proud of.

It wasn't the ideal place for Kel to seek healing of any sort, but it was better than doing it herself. The cut on her shoulder from the man's blade bled freely. She had tied two strips of bandage around it, but it wasn't going to be enough.

An inn sat directly inside the gate upon entering, but Artena stopped Kel. The sign read 'Silverhome on the Water'. "Better not bother stepping foot in that one. You won't find a clean table in sight, let alone a clean needle. Go to the very south of town, across the bridge. Bogrum's is more likely to have what you need. Mention my name. I'll be in The Fair Deal when you're finished. We're bound to get some good coin from these stones." Artena motioned to the general store next to them.

"Camila, why don't you come with me to the weapons shop? We can see about getting that dull blade of yours sharpened." Branwen suggested.

"I'm _going_ in with Artena to see Nordinor. You'll not talk me out of it. Either of you."

The weight of this exchange was not lost on Kel: the delicacy presented in Branwen's question, and the snapping tone with which Camila responded indicated some deeper issue, but Kel's shoulder burned and throbbed too greatly for her to pay any more attention, and she left them to their own business. It was early afternoon, and weak pallid sunlight struggled to shine through the haze of gray clouds. She looked on in distaste at the shabby workmanship of the city. Even the garden fences and the gate to the church cemetery looked decrepit and hastily constructed—she could build a better fence with her sliced up shoulder.

The Lonely Suitor Lodge was simply furnished. A fire burned low in the hearth, smoke settling up in the rafters, and many patrons occupied the circular wooden tables, content and hunched over their drinks. When she approached the counter she was greeted by an orc who introduced himself as the proprietor, Bogrum Gro-Galash.

She pointed to her shoulder. "I need stitched. Artena Mach-Na said you were the one to see."

He leaned over the counter to have a look at it and gave the bandage ties a sharp tug. "These were nowhere near tight enough," he said, ignoring her cry of protest. "You don't want to bleed out, I'm sure. I can stitch that, no problem." Bogrum patted her on her good shoulder with enough force to knock her over and another jolt shot through her injury. "Come on back this way."

Kel looked around carefully as she followed him to the next room. The baseboards were scrubbed clean and she couldn't see any dust. He left the door open to keep an eye on his customers and fetched a bottle filled with pale liquid. "Not fit to drink, but sure is good for cleanin'."

His bedside manner left something to be desired; he was heavy-handed with the needle, but he meant well. He offered her a heavy swig of liquor from the bar and a cork to bite on. She took only the former. When he poured alcohol over the gash she bit back a stream of curses from the searing burn and she grit her teeth against the sharp of the needle working through her skin.

Bogrum could at least stitch a straight line, and she paid him accordingly afterwards. Feeling a little woozy as she stood up, she ordered one more drink to fortify herself.

Artena came to find her before she was finished. She sat in the seat next to hers and discreetly passed a bundle of septims underneath the table. "Your share of the profits."

"Where's Branwen and Camila?"

"They ended up going to the weapons shop after all. I'm having a bit to eat. Will you have something?"

After they had requested a meal from Bogrum, Kel asked if they had a new destination plan.

"I have an informant who leaves me messages from time to time. I've just been at the Silverhome inn. While Gilgondorin may not know anything about picking up a scrub brush, he can at least handle discreet correspondence." She took a long pull from the mug Bogrum had set before her. "I've got a lead on a manor down in Leyawiin. It's to be unoccupied for the next two weeks, and its owner, some rich woman—a distant relation to Count Terentius, I understand—apparently slighted the wrong person with a badly executed business deal. This person has agreed to a hefty payout to the one who can liberate her jewelry box of a precious pendant while she is away. It's an unusual job for us to accept, but the payout is too great to ignore. People like that will pay dearly to see their revenge carried out."

"When do we leave?"

"The sooner the better. If the damned Thieves' Guild catches wind they'll take the job right out from under us."

* * *

  
_ii._  
Kel stood just inside the back gate to the manor house as a lookout; Branwen watched the front. It was a fine home, stately and aged, with well-preserved stained glass and two grand columns on either side of the front door. Vines crept delicately up the stone and curtains of deep jewel tones could be seen through the tall windows.

She heard footsteps crunching in the alley approaching the back garden. Peering around the corner, she spotted a man heading for the garden gate. Branwen appeared to intercept him, touching him on the shoulder as he passed. Kel noted a dramatic transformation in Branwen as she spoke to their intruder. Normally reserved, her body language was now considerably more open and fluid. She smiled freely and laughed in a low charming voice and though Kel couldn't make out every word they said, she heard enough to realize the man intended to enter the manor.

Kel turned away and slunk up to the house, rapping three times on the window to warn Artena and Camila. The footsteps in the alley moved along. Branwen's hold on him must have worn out. He was coming now. Her heart began to pound and she dove into the bushes. Suppose she didn't knock loud enough? They should probably have been out of the house by now. _Damn_.

The door to the cellar opened a creak, she saw Artena and Camila peeking out and she motioned frantically for them to get down. The man walked past them and up the back steps, using a little key he produced from his fine cloak to let himself in. Once the door shut behind him with a click, Artena swung the cellar doors open wide.

"Did you get it?" Kel asked.

"No. Camila had just gotten through the lock on the bedroom door when you signaled."

"I thought the damned house was meant to be empty!" Camila swore.

"It was," said Branwen, approaching from the alley. "That was the manservant. The lady of the house sent him back to occupy and guard the house in her absence. That's the paranoia of a guilty conscience, alright. Probably expecting some repercussions."

"Her instincts were true enough," Kel said, motioning to the lockpick bundle in Camila's hand.

"Well, that's what happens when you bend people over like that. They tend to retaliate. Or hire somebody else to do it for you." Camila said, shrugging.

"Quit whispering and move out," Artena hissed.

Once in the alley, it had begun to drizzle and Artena scrubbed a hand over her face in frustration. "There's no going back through the cellar, it leads right into the kitchen, and the stairs to the bedrooms are on the other end of the house. We could be seen."

"We'll come at night when he's asleep," Kel suggested.

"Every step and floorboard creaks something horrible," Camila said. "Not many could sleep through that."

"Unless," Branwen said, observing the house through the garden gate, "you didn't use the stairs. Look there. That balcony is attached to the lady's bedroom. Though we don't know where that old brute sleeps, we can safely assume it won't be in her private chambers."

Artena looked dubious. "Twice as many guards patrol the street at night. They cross routes in front of this very home."

"You underestimate me if you think I can't handle two lousy night guards," Branwen said.

"Just kill him, Artena," Camila insisted. "I don't see the harm. It'll be faster and we can get the hell out of here and collect our payment."

"Don't be ridiculous," Artena spat. "We're going stealth. Camila will go up the balcony and into the bedroom, unlock the jewelry box and sneak the pendant back down the balcony. Branwen will distract any guards that meander past the home."

"I'd _faint_ before I reached the top. Look at that rain-soaked stone! There aren't any footholds at all. I'll plummet to my death. I was never very much coordinated for climbing," said Camila. "And before you snap my head off, I'd like to remind you that you're not so savvy at it, either!"

Artena took a measured breath. "Camila," she said through gritted teeth.

"What did we recruit an acrobat for anyway? There's your bleeding climber." Camila motioned to Kel.

"You climb well, do you not?" Branwen asked. "Anvil cliffsides and such."

"Yes." 

"Think you could make it up there?"

"Easily. But what about the jewelry box? I can't pick locks."

Artena waved her hand dismissively. "You'll have to bring it back down with you. This manservant has mucked up the whole plan. I'll be listening at the back door. If you run into trouble and he catches you, signal me and I'll come in through the back. _Only_ as a last resort, mind you. We lose commission on this one for senseless killing."

The rain did make the stone quite slippery, but Kel had climbed many seaside cliffs more treacherous than this, and picked her way carefully up the side, searching for crevices to stuff her toes into. At the top she eased open the balcony door and paused to listen for the manservant inside. The furniture in the room was dark oak and professionally crafted. A flash of lightning lit up the room and the jewelry box winked at her from atop a bureau. She crossed the room and winced at the creak of a floorboard. _Stay close to the furniture_, Camila had urged her before. _The floor's already settled beneath its weight_. Kel repositioned herself according to these instructions, sticking close to the base of an armoire and a bookshelf until she silently reached the bureau.

She tucked the box—locked, of course—beneath her arm and headed for the balcony door.

There was a scrape of a key inside the bedroom lock and Kel froze in panic. The manservant was mumbling to himself outside the door. She dropped to the floor and shimmied underneath the bed, praying that the darkness would hide her. All she had to do was shout and Artena would burst in. She thought back to the man in the woods. The axe wedged into his throat as easily as if he were made of paper. The arc of blood and the look in Artena's eye. Kel had no doubt that Artena could kill this little man just as fluently. But she was desperate to prove herself and vowed not to cry out unless she absolutely had to.

The manservant stumbled into the bedroom, drunk, weaving a sloppy pattern as he made his way to the standing armoire.

"Calpurnia, my sweet. My sweet mistress." The doors creaked when he swung them open and Kel dared to peek out from underneath the bed to see him run his fingers all along the lady's clothes inside. He drew out a set of starched undergarments and held them to his face, inhaling deeply and shamelessly. Clearly his mistress did not share his amorous feelings if he was reduced to sneaking into her bedchamber while she was away to sniff her clothing.

After several minutes of this the manservant closed the armoire and reluctantly shifted back across the room to leave. He hesitated and Kel held her breath, hoping that the fool did not plan on settling himself into the bed.

Finally the lock clicked back into place and Kel wriggled out from under the bed, fingers clenched around the jewelry box. She stuffed it into her shirt and eased the balcony door open again. No doubt the rest of them wondered what was taking her so long, and by the time she crept back into the alley they descended on her with a barrage of questions, to which she responded by producing the box with a flourish.

"You did it," Branwen breathed.

Camila had the lock picked in an instant. "And just look at the finery in here! This will fetch a far better price than I was hoping for."

"We're only here for the pendant. This pendant," Artena said, plucking out the piece in question.

"What d'you mean?" Camila demanded angrily.

"I'm putting the box back, of course," Kel said.

"You're going _back_ up there?"

Kel was drunk on success. "The order was to remove the pendant only. If we take the whole box it will look like a random robbery. If we take the pendant and leave the rest it sends a message, which is the sole intent of the person who hired us."

"Who gives a hang about all that?" Camila asked.

"Our commissioner," Artena interjected. "Kel's perfectly right. Now get back up there."   


* * *

  
_iii._   
From that point onward Kel was always with them. They never spoke directly about it, but it seemed rather an unspoken agreement. They had proven themselves to each other in their own way.

They sold everything they found and split it four ways (with the exception of the dagger given to Kel in Flooded Mine) and Kel was added into the rotating nightwatch. While it was nice to rejoin civilization in the cities every once in a while, she preferred looting out in the wilderness. There was no shortage of treasure to be found in the world, and with such a well-rounded team, it was theirs for the taking.

She learned fast. She had to in order to stay alive.

They ventured into the unknown depths of Ayleid ruins. Tall-ceilinged, elegant rooms carved from white rock and lit with the blue glow of crystals. They were deep and forbidding, echoes calling from places out of reach, holding secrets of those who used to dwell within.

She found that that these sprawling labyrinths were riddled with traps. On more than one occasion Camila threw her arm out in front of Kel to stop her from barreling right through a tripwire or stepping onto a pressure plate. She followed Camila's outstretched finger to see swinging axes concealed in the ceilings or dart holes mounted into the wall. These were easily avoided, she explained, but only if you paid close enough attention.

Within these old halls dwelled a number of dangerous creatures. Things that Kel had only read about in her father's books. Goblins, imps, and feral predators that carried diseases. At home she had only seen the occasional territorial mud crab, or a slaughterfish or two if she swam too deep into the Abecean. But here they found living bones held together by nothing but dark magics. Branwen told her that necromancers often came to ruins like these to practice their illegal craft, resulting in these botched creatures, suspended in a horrific liminal state between life and death.

Despite her basic training at the Arena, Kel struggled in combat. This didn't prove to be a hindrance to the rest of them. Between Artena's strength and Branwen's swift arrows, they could fell most any enemy. Camila had a dagger herself, an ostentatious decorative thing with gold and ivory inlaid into its handle. She only used it in dire situations, but even she could wield it with more proficiency than Kel.

It bothered her, this glaring shortcoming of hers. They assured her that she had been hired for her skill in acrobatics. They sent her up countless steep cliffs to secure ropes for them, and rooftops—any tight space that needed maneuvered through, tiny second-story windows, and even a chimney on one occasion. There was no need for her to be an expert fighter, they said. Despite their placating she practiced during nearly all of her spare time.

One afternoon, camped in the Heartlands, Kel was practicing with her dagger on a large sack she'd stuffed with grass. With all of the energy expended on training, she spent most of her earnings on extra food to keep up with her athletic exertions.

"You can build all the muscle you want," Branwen said from behind her, "but with a frame of your size, you're fighting to lose with a dagger. I'm afraid you'll be at a disadvantage if an enemy is close enough for you to even use that thing."

Kel prickled. She'd been at it for weeks. Time wasted, according to Branwen's insinuation. "How would you suggest I defend myself, then?"

"I suggest you learn a ranged weapon. As long as you're far away, you'll keep the advantage." Branwen held out her chestnut bow. "You can try practicing with this for now. I think you'll find it much more to your taste."

* * *

  
_iv._  
In a way, this nomadic existence felt liberating to Kel. No longer tethered to her family and her home city, she traveled up and down the roads of Cyrodiil, never staying put long enough to let her thoughts catch up with her. Wanting to secure her place, she worked hard at making herself indispensable to them—shouldering firewood, taking longer night shifts, hunting, and foraging herbs. Saving strips of salted meat wrapped in parchment, picking sticky blueberries out of the patches that grew in the West Weald, expertly built firepits, and thick pastes mixed from plants the others knew nothing of that helped to soothe their cuts.

Kel began practicing with Branwen's bow. Though difficult, she liked it immediately and shifted her training into rigorous marksmanship practice. There was a wall of muscles in her shoulders that needed developed in order for her to hold the bow taut. At first her fingers blistered, and she snapped her arm with the bow string by accident so many times that her skin blushed angry red stripes and she was forced to purchase a leather arm band to wear. Whittling practice arrows at night helped her stay awake during her long watches. Eventually Artena found her a perfectly-sized bow while they were looting an abandoned fort near the Highlands. It was black as pitch and simple in design with a deep curve. It was the nicest thing she'd ever owned. When she had enough saved she had a sheath custom-made for her dagger that fit around her ankle. It was easily concealed inside her boots, and she felt safer for always having a weapon close by.

The money flowed in. An astonishing variety of goods just waiting to be unearthed if one knew where to look. Not only weapons and jewelry, but artifacts, rare books, and crystals—people were willing to pay small fortunes for the oddest things. Artena proved to be a shrewd manager and she never failed to point their little team in some prosperous direction. Her "informant" in Bravil was only one of six throughout the realm, and they provided the steady trickle of information she needed. She possessed a straightforward nature and an unrelenting focus, forever the driving force behind them all, whether they were battling a straggling vampire over an heirloom chest in some godforsaken ruins, or hiking to the closest city with dangerously depleted supplies.

Kel discovered that Artena's initial brusqueness with her hadn't been due to their lack of acquaintance, but was rather her nature. While she might not have been quick to smile or praise, Kel found her presence comforting. Artena always meant exactly what she said, and her lack of farce or pretense gave one the freedom of being exactly oneself.

* * *

  
_v._  
The most difficult of the three to get to know, Branwen said very little about herself. She shifted between long uncommunicative spells and a dazzling charm. Her ability to read others and suss out exactly what they wanted to hear was uncanny and had freed them from more than one tight predicament. Whenever they were stopped by a guard for "suspicious activity" or pinned down by a dodgy client asking too many questions, Branwen talked them down every time. She haggled with shopkeepers and convinced people to look the other way, clearing their path with a silver tongue.

Branwen read constantly, anything she could get her hands on. Histories, anthologies, bestiaries, poetry, no genre went beyond her reach. Every night they camped Branwen took the first watch so she could have the light of the fire to read by. Whenever they stopped in town she went straight for a bookstore to trade in her current book for a different one. Often she would appear disengaged from the conversation, immersed with the page in front of her and it wasn't until later when she referenced those conversations did Kel realize she'd been listening the entire time.

Branwen saved most of her money for clothes and finery, preferring silk or velvet. Soft fabrics dyed in deep rich jewel tones—scarlet, emerald, lapis lazuli. They made her look regal and mysterious. A gloomy queen drifting in with the golden sunset from a far away land of ice and snow.

One day they were stopped in Skingrad and Camila said something that made Branwen laugh. Her face softened and her eyes brightened in humor and a man passing them in the courtyard fixed his gaze onto her, looking a bit like he'd been struck with lightning. He had a red beard and slight hands and he nearly tripped over himself in his haste to introduce himself to Branwen. He was an artist, he told her. He would pay her ten, twenty septims, anything if she was willing to stand in his parlor for the afternoon so he could sketch her. She agreed, and that evening when Branwen met up with them again at the inn she brandished _thirty_ septims and a pearl pendant.

"Honestly," Artena said into her mead. She said it in such a way that Kel couldn't tell if it was exasperation or disapproval.

"Ooh, how much do you think we'll fetch for that." Camila stooped over the pendant.

When it was time to move on from Skingrad they noticed the red-haired man trailing a ways behind them on the road, wringing his hands. At first it was amusing, but quickly turned sour when he tried to approach her multiple times and offer declarations of the love she apparently stirred within his heart. He wouldn't go away and Artena broke the last two fingers on his left hand, yanking them backwards with a sharp snap.

* * *

  
_vi._  
"Oh, get them away, quick! Get back!" Camila's eyes squinted shut and she held up her palms in defense.

Kel looked down at the pair of hares that she'd just finished extricating from a snare she'd set up a week earlier. They'd spent the last five days in the Great Forest raiding a thick clump of caves next to an Ayleid ruin. It rained and thundered and they'd been forced to seek shelter in the mouth of one of the empty caves.

"I thought you'd be pleased for a hot meal. We've been on fruit and bread for days," Kel said with some astonishment.

"I like roasted hare as much as the next person, but I can't bear the sight of those dead, limp animals just hanging there like that. Don't you dare ask me to help you _skin_ the things." She began to dry retch with great fervency.

"You must be joking."

"Put that knife down! Take it outside."

"You're serious. And if it was a chicken or a crab?"

"Ugh, don't even speak of it! I'll faint straight away!"

Branwen interjected. "I'll help you with those."

"By the Nine, I've never met somebody with such an aversion to preparing their own dinner," Kel said.

"Yes, well, get used to it because there aren't many facets of daily life that she hasn't written off yet," Artena said bitterly. She knelt nearby constructing a sturdy fire, her back as straight as a board.

* * *

  
_vii._  
The first time Kel noticed something amiss was in Chorrol. After their extended stay in the forest they were all eager for a decent bed and a proper bath. They rented two rooms at the Oak and Crosier and ordered enough food that the table nearly began to lean underneath the weight—pork shoulder and creamed potatoes with garlic, dense brown bread with nuts, roast onion, sweetrolls, scallops, and buttered crab meat.

This last haul had been a large one. Having made so much money, they filled their cups with the finest wine that the innkeeper could provide. One of the patrons, a Khajiit, had brought with him a strange instrument with strings that Kel didn't know the name of. He played at a languid pace. Soft, haunting notes that mesmerized her. With the smooth wine on her tongue and the pink light from the sunset illuminating the windows, she was struck with a feeling of deep contentment that she hadn't felt in months.

"To life," Camila said, raising her cup with a grand air. "May we always find what we seek." They lifted their wine "to life" and the pair of Bretons at the next table did the same.

Camila's leg kept rocking the table and her pale gaze fluttered around the inn like a panicked bird. "Are you late for something?" Kel asked her.

She'd meant it in jest but Camila twitched her head. "Oh, yes. Got a man to see in town. An old friend, really. More wine over here," she said aloud to the proprietor.

Sometime later that night Kel went upstairs and heard raised voices in the hallway. The door to the room that she was sharing with Artena was open, and she could hear Camila, loud and hysterical.

"You think I'm stupid, think I don't know what's going on but I _do_."

Artena's voice, measured and calm. "This is an overreaction, don't you think?"

"They're my wages! I've dragged myself back and forth across this miserable realm and for what? I'll have what's mine. I will!"

"Stop acting foolish. Nobody's withholding your pay, it was _suggested_—"

"I know quite well what was suggested, and it's no coincidence you waited 'til the biggest score we've made all year. It's bad enough we have to split our earnings amongst a fourth person now, let alone this!"

The louder Camila's voice grew, the quieter Artena spoke, as if she could break through the spell of agitation with patience and stoicism. Her reply was too quiet for Kel to make out. Just when she turned back to the stairs to leave them to their argument, Camila had another outburst, her high thin voice shattering the silence of the upper floor into fragments.

"It's mine! Give me the money! Vicious lizard brute! Thieving reptilian _bitch_!"

The severity of these words astounded Kel, and she almost expected Artena to strike her and she waited for the loud crack. Instead she heard a tinkling of coins and Artena spoke again, her icy tone laced with disgust. "Drop it down a well for all I care."

Kel ducked into an alcove just as Camila stalked past her and hurried down the staircase.

What was the meaning of this? Artena was exceedingly fair, generous even, having footed the entire cost of their magnificent feast this evening. Every stop they made, Artena pulled out a little book and tallied each piece of treasure acquired and what it had sold for, adding up the columns and dividing it neatly four ways. Quite transparent with their income, she couldn't imagine from where Camila's accusations came.

She tried not to let the bit about paying a fourth person sting her. If anything, Camila had taken to her quicker than the others. And her complaint hadn't necessarily been personal. More directed at the circumstances rather than Kel herself.


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had this all ready to go and completely forgot to post it oops *facepalm*  
it's FINALLY done being a million degrees here so I've been able to enjoy some fresh air this fall, hope you all are too!  
thanks for reading, I'd love to read a comment if you've got the time <3

* * *

  
_i._  
They slipped almost imperceptibly from Second Seed into Midyear. The days grew hotter, longer, lazier. Hundreds of blooms pushed up from the ground, a result of the near constant rain they'd had all spring. Delicate primrose and alkanet stalks, lavender dotting the hills of the West Weald. 

Kel thrived in the heat of summer, but Branwen could scarcely bear it and spent as much of her free time as possible stripped down to her undergarments and floating in whatever lake or pond was nearby, her black hair billowing out behind her like some siren or a nymph from her old picture books. Camila slept often, bumbling around wasp-like, as if disoriented from the heavy air and steady thrum of the cicadas that sang in the twilight. Artena was the only other one who seemed content, packing a hand-carved pipe with sticky tobacco from the Black Marsh, puffing away thoughtfully in front of their campfire while she recorded their findings. 

Nobody made any mention of the hysterics that day at the inn, and Kel didn't want to seem obtrusive by bringing it up and admitting that she'd been eavesdropping. 

She wished she could work out the strange dynamic she sensed between the three of them. It appeared that Camila's presence was tolerated rather than enjoyed. Sometimes when Camila said something, a look would pass between Artena and Branwen, its meaning unclear to Kel. 

"When I save up enough money someday I'll be going back home to help run my mother's inn. She hasn't two septims to rub together. I can think of a great many improvements that the place needs," Camila said one day in a dreamy wistful tone. Branwen shot Artena that mysterious look again, almost as if Camila had said something ridiculous. Oblivious, she continued, "It's quite a nice little place she's got. Nestled right up against the river, pretty as a picture. Big enough flower garden to fill that clearing over there, and there's a little pane of colored window glass up in the attic. She'd be so happy to see me."   
  


* * *

  
_ii._   
_Have gone to the pub to toss back some drinks. Do be a dear and come and fetch me when you find this note as I expect to be quite drunk by this afternoon_   
_ Yours, Camila_

The note was left on the bureau in Kel's rented room at the inn, but it wasn't addressed to anyone in particular. While she hadn't heard them fighting again, Kel wasn't sure Camila would leave this note for Artena. 

They were in Bravil again (unfortunately), and Kel knew Camila preferred Silverhome pub. She didn't expect Branwen back from the archery shop anytime soon, and Artena was picking up an order from the blacksmith's. 

Silverhome stood near the city gate and she found it easily enough. Inside, Camila was nowhere to be seen. She asked the man behind the counter if he had seen a pale woman with blonde hair and leather armor. 

He scratched his jaw with large, square-tipped fingers. "Sickly little dishrag of a girl? Ye, I seen her. Tried to short me three septims, the greedy wench."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Thieves aren't in the habit of informing their marks where they'll be next." His voice was patronizing.

"You didn't happen to see which way she went?"

"P'raps you could jostle my head with a spot of coin I was near shorted by your little friend."

Insufferable. She pressed three coins into the man's palm and they disappeared up his dirty sleeve in the blink of an eye.

"Well?"   
  
"I'd wager she's with Nordinor."

"Look, I have no idea who that is. Is that all you can tell me?" Maybe she would need to hunt down Branwen after all.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "If I was lookin' for Nordinor I'd check the Den."

"And where would that be?" She was losing patience.

A funny look passed across his face and he hesitated. "The one by the potions shop. You oughta steer clear a there. Just follow the smell if you must."

She wanted to argue that the whole city smelled, but was tired of the man and left. The humidity was thick and it was the hottest part of the afternoon, when the bugs swarmed and the damp drifted up from the bogs.

When she found the potions shop she glanced around. There was no den of any sort. The shop stood alone next to the bridge to Castle Bravil. Across the street was some person's shabby home, a lonely garden overrun with dead weeds in front. A whiff of something sour caught her attention and it was only then that she noticed the ramshackle staircase leading up the side of the house. 

Follow the smell. 

The steps creaked on her way up and a much-needed breeze stirred the humid air. Again the ripe odor assailed her. At the top of the stairs a shack stood upon a wooden deck. It looked as if the wind might blow it over at any time. She considered knocking, but wasn't sure what to say.

She was spared the effort; the lock rattled and the door swung open. Two dazed men stepped out onto the deck squinting against the sunlight, paying her no attention except to move aside so she could enter. She did so, and her eyes adjusted to the dim interior. 

Huddled shadows shifted in the darkness. It wasn't immediately clear how many people were in here. Five? Six? This place wasn't a home; the floor was dirty, windows caked up with dust so the light barely shone. It had the look of a place that had once been filled—discolored squares where pictures had once hung, unevenly worn floor planks in the corners where cabinets might have stood. There were no furnishings save for two poorly-constructed chairs and a single table upon which sat a meager inch of cold candle stub with puddled wax beneath it. Despite the weighty depressing air of the place, it was evident that people slept here. Dingy bedrolls and the pungent smell of sweat and vomit. A beetle skittered across the floor and Kel cleared her throat. "I'm looking for someone."

A Khajiit wearing only a pair of sackcloth pants lifted his head from a stiff pile of blankets. "Eh?" He coughed roughly. "J'zin-Dar don't want any trouble."

Her eyes adjusted further and she recognized Camila sitting at the table with another woman. She was slumped over in her chair, fingers wrapped around a violet-colored bottle. The woman sitting beside her drummed her fingers in rapid succession on the table top.

"Camila. I've been trying to find you." She didn't answer. 

Grit crunched underneath her boots as she crossed the room and shook Camila's shoulder. "Are you drunk?"

Camila opened her eyes, glassy and bright. "Kel. How delighful to see you, whatever are you doing here?"

"You told me to get you at the pub."

"No need to look so cross. I _was_ at the pub and now I'm finished."

"Let's get out of here."

"I'm having a lovely time," she said dreamily. Little white granules sprinkled over the table. She traced circles through the powder.

A balding man with a filthy tunic muttered to himself and inched uncomfortably close to Kel. "_Count them_, count the fish. They won't always be here. Mother's leading them down the stream. You there. Can you see this itch? This terrible itching, it plagues me. They crawl beneath the skin where I can't get them."

"Keep your distance." In her alarm, it came out harsher than intended. There was something wrong these people. "Camila, let's go. I don't want to be here."

"Then go."

Camila took a long pull from the bottle, licking a drop from the side of her mouth when she finished. Her movements were stiff. Jerky. Like she was charged up and couldn't wind down, heart racing against itself in panicked self-destruction.

"Please, come with me."

"I said I'm not ready, have you gone deaf? Clear off if you're going to be so insufferable."

The other woman picked absentmindedly at the hardened wax drippings around the candle. "What a pretty friend you have. So soft and bright around the edges. Like a little dolly I used to have with sad eyes."

The stench of body odor and ripe rotten food grew overwhelming and Kel was forced to retreat outside to the sticky heat. She slapped at a mosquito on her neck. Who owned this place and how many people were living there?

Time to find help. Branwen wasn't at the archery shop or the inn, but she found Artena in the general store. 

Her expression must have shown distress; Artena knew there was something wrong right away.

"What's happened?"

"There's something wrong with Camila." Kel lowered her voice. "She's in this terrible shack. And she won't leave. The people there are acting...mad. I don't think they're drunk."

"They're not drunk. How long has she been in there?"

"Hell if I know. I found a note that said she was supposed to be in the pub—"

"It doesn't matter anyway."

Artena didn't need directions. Marching up the steps with purpose, she leaned on the rickety door. It was locked this time. She threw her shoulder against it and broke the lock in one clean snap. 

Kel lingered in the doorway, feeling like a coward. Nobody inside said anything about the broken lock. 

"It's time to leave."

"Oh, here we go," Camila sighed. "You always pluck me out of the flowers, crush me between your fists."

"Yes, why don't you tell me about it on the way?"

Camila dragged her feet and barely seemed to notice Artena hauling her by the shoulder. She gave a dramatic gasp once they passed the threshold. "It's a beautiful symphony, it rings in my ears. Artena, can you see the wires holding everything up? It's how the sun got there." She grabbed at Kel's vest, clumsy and childlike, and it left a powdery residue. 

"That place..." Kel said as they went down the stairs. "Those people were all using skooma, weren't they?"

"Yes."

Kel had seen sailors stumbling around the docks in a dazed euphoria back home in Anvil. A concentrated liquid made from the highly addictive moon sugar, skooma was illegal in Cyrodiil, and Kel had never seen it up close before. 

"Will she be alright?"

"Well enough."  
Camila's head lolled over onto Artena's shoulder. A guard looked on in distaste as they passed him in the road. Could he tell? 

"Why do the guards let them stay up there like that?"

"This is Bravil. Nobody cares."

She asked Artena if Camila did this often, but she didn't answer.

* * *

  
_iii._  
They hadn't left Bravil yet. Kel was itching to head west, away from the swampy green thickness of Blackwood for a more arid climate. Skin slicked with sweat, Kel sat outstretched in the kitchen gardens of the Lonely Suitor Lodge, trying to pick out constellations in the sky. Stringing together the pinpricks of stars on a delicate line, tracing their familiar shapes. The two moons in the sky shone painfully bright, flooding her with a drunken electricity. Or perhaps that was the ale, her fingers clutched around a clay tankard she'd brought outside with her.

"Camila's still sleeping," Branwen said from behind her. She had no idea how long she'd been standing there. 

"What does that make? Eleven hours now?"

"That's normal when she's coming down from the stuff. I know you're impatient to move on, but Artena says it will likely be another day before we can leave."

Kel never mentioned wanting to leave, but she had long since ceased to be surprised at Branwen's acute deductions. 

Branwen appeared to have lost her usual composure—she looked slumped and damp in the sticky heat. Her dark wardrobe was all wrong for the weather. Kel offered her a drink of her ale, which she accepted, eagerly tipping back the cup, a single dribble down the side of her chin.

"Do you know any constellations?" 

"Yes." Branwen came to stand closer. "Do you?"

"Some."

"Let's see. Just to the right of Secunda..." Branwen pointed to the smaller of the moons and trailed her finger eastward. "There. The Lover. You can see the curve of her arm winding downward into her gown. And if you count a few skips downward—"

"The Shadow," Kel offered.

"Exactly. The top part there is the hood of his cloak. They're my two favorites. This is an interesting time of year because they look almost as if they're reaching out to each other. Their story is a sad one. They were in love; both of them charges of the Thief, who was meant to protect them. They sought shelter in the Tower as instructed, but the Lord, jealous that the Shadow had encapsulated the Lover's affection, tricked him into leaving the safety of the Tower and slayed the Shadow on the spot."

"Did you read that in a book?"

"My husband told it to me."

She'd been leaning on her elbow and nearly fell over in shock. "You're married?"

"I was—back in Skyrim. We were both so young. How hopelessly rebellious we were. Wouldn't do a thing without each other."

"What happened?"

Branwen looked back up at the dotted stars. Her hair stuck to her neck and the damp sides of her face. "He was killed. Bandits. They left him in the road by Dawnstar."

"That's terrible."

"His name was Jerral. And now I'll never love anybody again." She said it to the sky, as if she were alone. "But I'm not the only one familiar with tragedy." She turned with an inquisitive gleam in her eye. "Tell me, when you scour the face of every person who passes in front of us, who is it you're searching for?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You seek someone. Maybe not directly, but you never stop looking."

It had to have been the ale. The drunken haze she marinated in. Why else would she have looked Branwen square in the eyes and said what she did? 

"I'm searching for my brother's killers." It wasn't something that she'd even admitted in her own mind, but as soon as it pushed its way past her lips she knew it was the truth. She wrenched her gaze from Branwen's. The momentum from the first confession propelled her to speak further. "It was two Nords—siblings. A man and a woman. Silver-haired with tattoos. She called him Toralf."

"Debt collectors," she said in a horrified whisper.

"You _know_ them?"

Branwen swallowed, her throat working carefully. "I know of them."

"Who are they?" She couldn't keep the anguish from her voice.

"They operated within a gambling ring in Skyrim. A friend of Jerral's was caught up in a bit of trouble with them for a spell. We helped him pay his debt..." she trailed off. "The market is better for it down here. They've expanded. Toralf is trouble enough, but it's Metia to look out for."

"Metia," she repeated in a trance. 

"Yes. Toralf and Metia Bjeldsen." 

She scrambled to her feet. The remainder of her drink tipped over into the soil. "Branwen," she said in a crazed desperation. "_Can you find them?_"

"I can try," she responded with some reluctance. "I have someone back home I can write to. Someone who might know."

Kel could have cried in that moment. There was a hard swell in her throat. 

"Though I would advise against it. Artena will drop you, you know." She said it not unkindly, but as a statement of fact. "If you take up your own reckless agenda to kill them."

Kel stared a beat longer. "I think she would recognize the justice in it."

"You're wrong about that. She'll put the safety of the group first."

"I'm not asking for her help."

"But you are asking for her to turn the other way while you indulge in a selfish diversion. We can't carry on our work if one of us is actively pursued by the guard."

"Why hasn't she kicked Camila out, then? If any of us are selfishly indulging—"

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it's different with Camila. Surely you've noticed the special treatment. Never having to stay up for a night watch shift? Never lifting a finger or having to carry supplies? Carrying on like a spoiled princess?"

"So why is that, then?"

"They've known each other the longest. They started this group. She feels responsible for Camila," she said simply. "We both do."

But something had awakened within her, unfurling in her chest and taking hold of her so urgently she felt that it might consume her.

"Will you help me or not?"

"I will. If it's what you want."

She didn't feel it necessary to repeat herself, and some minutes later Branwen left her and retreated down the cobblestone path, following the soft glow of the chapel. Kel felt a prickle and turned to look at the lodge behind her, startled to see Camila on the upper floor peering down at her like a translucent ghost at the window, her features swimming through the glass. 

* * *

  
_iv._  
Metia and Toralf Bjeldsen. 

Kel turned the names over and over in her mind. 

She'd been thrown into a wicked spiral with this new information. Her fury rekindled, rising from the cooled ashes that had begun to settle over her grief.

Knowing their names animated them in her mind. She dreamt about them with an obsessive hatred. Every detail about that night trickled steadily into her conscious with perfect clarity and soon they were nearly all she could think about. Their pretentious aesthetics—silvery hair twisted and pinned into intricate designs, black ink edges of painfully meticulous tattoos, overly ostentatious gear that leaned toward intimidation rather than practicality. The sharp, angular cheekbones and ice-blue pupils seared into her memory. The ornate carvings in Metia's knife. And then worse, Corwin's horrible choking gasp, garbled with blood and panic. The way his eyes had fixated right onto Kel in that last stretched-out second before they dropped him onto the floor in a crumpled heap. 

There had been another person with them. A dimwitted man, the one who'd grabbed her from behind. She never got a good look at him before the sharp crack to the head. He would only be a bonus. It was the siblings she needed to find. 

Kel would see that fear again. This time it would be reflected back to her in _their_ eyes. 


	5. five

_i._  
"I would like you to do something for me." The next morning Artena woke her shortly after sunrise, hovering in the doorway with a serious air. The frame creaked as Kel rolled over and lifted her face from the bedclothes. "I might have something big in the making. A job. Risky, but high-paying. I'm to meet a man at an inn north of here regarding the specifics. This sort of thing is too sensitive to entrust to a courier. I'd like you to come with me. Branwen's agreed to stay here and keep an eye on Camila for the day. It's a three hour walk, less if we're able to hail a wagon."

Kel blinked heavily, shaking off the daze of sleep. "If this is a business meeting," she said, rubbing her eye, "wouldn't it do you better to bring Branwen along?"

"Frankly, I think she would have an easier time getting Camila to listen to her if need be. And we're not aiming to flatter the man, only to see if the terms are agreeable." 

"Alright then." She carefully swung her feet out of the covers.

"Bogrum has bread and cheese downstairs. Bring your hood, it may rain."

It did rain: a lazy, gentle drizzle and an occasional wink of lightning over the trees. She wanted to ask questions about Camila—everyone had been remarkably tight-lipped about the subject despite the spectacle that Kel had witnessed at the skooma den—but Artena was in a poor mood, moving along at an irritated clip with a stiff-set jaw, replying only in monosyllables.

Halfway to their destination they flagged down a cart filled with bags of fruit and grains. Artena paid him four coins and they climbed into the back as the driver urged his horses onward. It stopped sprinkling soon after. As the cart rattled down the road, Kel asked her about the job and where they were going.

"We're meeting at the Inn of Ill Omen. I believe our services would be needed in Imperial City. That's all I know about it. In fact, the man withheld so much information that if Gilgondoron hadn't assured me of the man's wealth, I wouldn't have even considered the job. Double-stitched tunic, gold jewelry, official-looking haircut and all that—not to mention the size of the tip he left Gilgondoron."

"How did this man know how to contact you?"

"He didn't. Gilgondoron is widely known in the underground as a liaison between thieves and those willing to pay large sums for their discreet services. Part of what I pay him for is his referral." 

The inn, bleak and out of the way of the road, had barely any foot traffic. Kel wasn't sure if this would prove helpful to their unsavory errand or not. Sometimes it was easier to blend in and not be overheard if there were bustling customers to drown out one's conversation. 

Inside, the bar was empty, the proprietor nowhere to be found. A feeble old man shuffled near the hearth, sleepy-eyed and decrepit. The only other person was a rather large man with broad shoulders of indeterminate age sitting in the darkest corner of the inn. Artena locked eyes with him for a few long seconds before crossing the room to sit at his table. Kel did the same.

"Mach-Na?" 

"And my business partner." She motioned to Kel without introducing her.

He had a stiff upright air reminiscent of a soldier, though there was something dark about him that blurred around the edges. Something about the sullen rings underneath his eyes and the sharpness of his gaze that gave Kel the idea that he'd not been walking the straight and narrow path as of late. With no food or drink in front of him, he possessed a singular unwavering focus that he set upon both of them.

"I require a particular set of skills. There's a city official in Imperial City I have great quarrel with."

"We're not in the business of assassination," Artena said curtly. 

"I do not wish him dead. I wish his career to be ruined. Decimated."

_Like his was_, Kel thought with sudden awareness. 

"That's a steep request," Artena said. 

"This man..." he continued, "took everything from me, and now he walks free as Captain, enjoying the spoils of _my_ labor, spitting in my face, releasing me from service in disgrace—"

Here Artena raised her hand to cut him off. "Hearing your myriad of grievances is not in our job description. We're here for the task at hand and to discuss payment."

The man, clearly unaccustomed to interruptions, sat back in his chair and Kel thought for an instant that Artena had overstepped her bounds. He reached into his cloak and produced several scrolls which he placed on the table in front of them. Maps—professionally done and likely stolen, based on the official Imperial seal in the corners of the pages. 

"The Captain is in possession of a certain valuable entrusted to him by the Count. An heirloom, a signet ring. If it were to go missing, his position as Captain will surely vanish just as quickly. This is the layout of the Imperial barracks where his office is. It's just next door to the prison. And here—" he shuffled the parchment, "the sewers underneath them. The sewers are the only way in and out of the city without passing the gates. It is imperative that no guards glimpse your faces, especially the ones at the city gates."

A ghost of amusement flickered across Artena's face at these elementary instructions. This was not her first stealth mission, nor would it be the last.

"You can enter through here and work your way up. On this level there is a patrol. And here as well. Once you make your way up through the prison and into the barracks, the lock on the door to the Captain's office will be a tough one to get through. Not to mention the underground gate near the watch patrol. I have no key for you for either of these locks."

"It won't be a problem," Artena said.

"This is no shoddy store-room lock," he insisted. "It won't be opened with a hairpin."

"Isn't that something?" Artena said to Kel. "You can't open the locks in the Imperial Offices with a hairpin. Remarkable." She turned back to him. "Please, continue on."

His eyes narrowed in skepticism. "The ring is hidden inside a hollowed book in his office. You bring it back to me and you'll be paid three hundred septims."

Artena made a noise of distaste and slid her chair back a fraction. "I don't appreciate my time being wasted."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I wonder why you do not solicit the Thieves' Guild."

"They are careless. And arrogant. Having worked in the law, I know too often how many of their men get pinched within the span of a single week. They think they own the town, their chests are puffed with ill-founded conceit. I need a guarantee that it will be done. Quietly."

"And yet you insult us. Such a paltry sum could never tempt a professional."

"Paltry?" he repeated in disbelief.

"You ask me to risk my life, and the lives of my partners by infiltrating the Imperial Legion itself and offer us table scraps in return. Contact the Guild if you're so insistent on tightening your purse strings." 

Kel followed Artena's lead and rose to leave. The man looked alarmed. "Do not leave hastily. The compensation can be negotiated, surely." 

"I understand you aren't accustomed to playing on this side of the fence," Artena said. "But in this business, you will get what you put into it."

He cracked his knuckles in a way that seemed to stem from nerves rather than hostility. "I will pay you five hundred septims."

"You underestimate with whom you're dealing." Her voice was deadly quiet, a glint of steel in her eye.

"Eight hundred," he said. 

Artena sat. Looked carefully at the strict lines on the parchment, leafing through them with diligence. She exhaled finally, giving Kel a pointed stare that she gathered was only for show before she clasped her hands together on the table and said to the man, "We accept. On the 11th of Sun's Height the two of us will meet you in the Faregyl Inn with the signet ring. Your identity will be exposed if you don't have the payment or if we don't return to our associates."

They shook hands, and Kel saw the man's expression twitch ever so slightly at the strength of Artena's grip.

* * *

  
_ii._  
They left Bravil two days later, heading north for Imperial City. There were two weeks before their rendezvous meeting at the inn. Artena, with unwavering accuracy, recreated the layout of the sewers for them to study, mapping their route.

Kel was skeptical of the job. "Are you sure we can trust him? He used to be a high-ranking soldier."

"Soldiers are just as prone to corruption as anyone else. And I'm not doubtful of his loyalties. He was far too forthcoming with the personal details of his life. Discharged from the ranks, indeed. Anybody could track him down with that information."

They found the sewer entrance: a sturdy gate planted into the side of a hill around the back of the city. The only thing visible through the bars was an enshrouded tunnel. The lock was an impressive steel contraption. Camila approached it with glee. "Let's have a look at you, darling." Her lockpicks were wrapped in leather, and she crouched at the gate and began to sort through them. She tried three or four different sizes before setting to work. 

It always fascinated Kel to watch Camila at a lock; she navigated every type with the proficiency of an old master, sensitive to every click and catch of the tumblers, as if they were whispering to her. Camila had been teaching her how to get past—well, hairpin locks, but she had to start somewhere. 

"This is very important," Artena said. "In order for us to have a fair chance, we need some idea of the patrol schedule. I'm sending you in shifts for the next five days to work out their rotations. Once we know numbers, we'll know how to get past."

"Oh, I _detest_ information gathering. All of that sitting around for hours, bored, cramped legs, praying that you don't sneeze or cough and give away your hiding spot," Camila said.

"Well, you have to at least get past the locks for us, haven't you?" Artena snapped. 

"Almost got it now," Camila replied in a jingling lilt. 

"Look at the earth all around the door," said Branwen. "It hasn't been disturbed in ages. That bodes well for us."

"There shouldn't be anything worse than rats and mudcrabs in there. Still...maybe I ought to go with you on the first run," Artena said.

"Oh, _please_. Grab a sword and run me through now if I can't fend off a few large crabs by myself. Here we are." The gate swung open, screeching from disuse. 

"Take this map, you remember which doors we need through?"

"Yes, yes, four unlocked gates, coming up." Camila swiped the rolled-up parchment from Artena's hand. She bounded into the tunnel, her voice reverberating back to them. "This smell is positively putrid. Some errand you've sent us on, Artena."

She disappeared into the darkness and Branwen shut the gate behind her. 

"We'll camp further down," Artena said. "We don't want to draw attention to the sewer entrance. Kel, give me a hand with the firewood?"

* * *

  
_iii._  
Seven days later and they were finally ready to strike. Learning the guards' patrol had taken the longest. Camila was right, it was mind-numbingly dull work. During Kel's turn, she'd snaked her way through the labyrinth of the sewers, avoiding the water as much as she could, thankful for the walkways. Weak circles of light cast from grates in the ceiling. She could tell when she was underneath the city; the occasional echo of street noise floated down from the openings. The clatter of carts and the bustle and gossip of the citizens. 

From the sewers they could get into the prison, which was where the patrols began. Their path all the way up until this point was unlocked, courtesy of Camila. One of the tunnels led into a high-ceiling passage made out of stone. The torches were lit when she slipped in, and she knew to expect them but at her first glimpse of an Imperial soldier leaning against a candlelit table at the end of the passage, she froze and her heart leapt up into her throat. There were two more standing next to an iron gate, clad in heavy clunking armor.

Relax, she told herself. She inched along the wall in the dark, spotting a rotted out cabinet in the corner she could hide behind. The room was cavernous and as long as she remained silent, they would never know she was there watching them. Eventually the third guard left. She crouched for hours, working out their routine. When the remaining two finally finished their shift they rose to leave, stretching and sleepy. There was a long two minute gap before two new guards shuffled in to replace them. That would be their window. 

She crept back out immediately and ran back to their camp. "Shift's up," Kel said. "The number drops to two for about four hours. And they leave a two minute gap in between guard swaps." Artena glanced at the sun to note the time of day and scratched some notes in her little book. 

They were all a bit on edge in anticipation of the theft despite being scrupulously overprepared. Artena's meticulous planning left no room for error. She knew each floor of the sewer, the full layout of the prisons and the precise corridor that connected the two. As with most of their stealth missions, Artena would linger just outside—in this case, right past the gate before the first room of guards in the sewer.

Artena had no gift for moving silently, and instead served as a safe marker for them—a home base. If you got into trouble as long as you could make it past her post, you'd be alright. Camila had often come darting out of a cave or ruin to cower behind the axe-wielding Artena, _Ha ha, can't get me now_. While Artena did not profess the capacity to take out a hypothetical fleet of armed guards chasing them, she could at least take out a few from the frontline and activate the traps they'd set, buying them time to escape. 

Branwen was dressed in costume to serve as another one of their last resorts: shapely gown, tattered in just the right places to draw a lecherous man's eye, missing jewelry, sob story on the tip of her tongue, _Oh, thank goodness I found somebody! Some lowlives left me down here for dead, I thought I'd never find help!_ She was stationed at the top of one of the stone flights of stairs, overlooking the main watch. 

It was a useful vantage point, and close enough that she could stumble in, disoriented and doe-eyed, if they ran into trouble. It was a risky play, only used in an emergency. There was always the chance that the guards wouldn't believe Branwen's "dragged into the sewer" routine and arrest her for trespassing.

It had happened once before. The guard who'd caught her had actually been about to walk in on Kel halfway out the shop window, suspended three stories high and scrabbling for a proper foothold. Branwen stepped in as a last second distraction and he unfortunately hadn't bought into her act. He was an unusually astute man, and while he couldn't prove Branwen had been stealing, he still tossed her into a cell. They'd spent a long thirty days holed up in Skingrad waiting for her to serve her trespassing sentence. 

"Kel," Artena said in a sharp voice. "I need your focus."

"Sorry."

She hadn't slept well; visions of the Nord siblings weaved throughout her dreams. Their faces appeared in windows, from around corners, and, more disturbingly, from underneath bedframes and from inside chests. That heart-stopping instant she recognized a pair of silver blue eyes watching her and she woke, a distressed cry strangled in the back of her throat. While she hadn't expected Branwen to inform her once she sent the letter inquiring after the Nords, she had a fierce desire to know if she'd made any progress. 

Camila looked ill as well. At her best she always had a rather worn-out, unpleasant, and emaciated look to her, but today her complexion was ashen. Hollow and sunken cheeks, puffy eyes, pupils darting frenetically. They hadn't been in any city for days and Kel couldn't imagine that she could have gotten her hands on anything she shouldn't. Branwen had been watching her like a hawk. 

* * *

  
_iv._  
Kel swept her eyes over the seemingly empty alcove above them until she spotted the faint outline that Branwen made in the darkness. Good, she was still at her lookout post. She waited for her signal to start inching forward.

Camila had already snuck ahead to unlock the door leading from the prison cells to the entrance, and then doubled back. It was Kel who had to make it through that door and into the Bastion. The Bastion didn't connect to the Legion offices, which is where the ring was kept, and they couldn't very well go strolling through the courtyard. The person stealing the ring would need to climb in order to avoid being seen. 

Branwen's hand waved frantically to her, a faint flash of white in the dark corner, only visible if you knew where to look. 

The guards were changing shifts. 

On Branwen's signal she crept silently against the stone wall and flew across the little walkway to the the door. She cracked the door open (Branwen had previously oiled the hinges for them) and snaked her head around, listening with the tense air of some defenseless prey that had wandered into a den of wolves. Satisfied there were no guards coming yet, she snuck out and had nearly reached the stairs when she saw the jailor sitting in a chair beside the evidence chests staring straight at her.

No, not staring. Asleep propped up in his chair. 

Heart beating wildly, she forced herself up the stairs and tried to ignore the weight of the ramifications if she were caught lurking in the Imperial barracks. At the top of the stairs she heard the door downstairs scrape open, the next two guards on shift coming in and she held her breath as she heard them talking and moving toward the prison door she had just come out of. 

She heard the jailor jerk awake in his chair with a wet snore. "E-evening, sirs." 

Her stomach had leapt into her heart but they didn't come upstairs. She knew they had no reason to come up, but she was nervous nonetheless. Once they passed through she slowly eased the door open, praying that the jailor wouldn't hear it. She'd have rather waited until he'd fallen asleep again, but the quicker she moved, the better.

Inside the room it was dark and she could see stands of armor and weapons cabinets. A strip of light shone underneath the next door over and raucous laughter floated out. According to Artena's map that was the room in which the men took their meals. 

The window swung open with a push and she stuck her head out, grateful for the cloud cover that blocked most of the moonlight that evening. Counting three windows down, she pinpointed the Captain's office and climbed out of the window. 

The ledge she used to shimmy across was ornamental. Flattened against the wall, she could barely fit her feet on the skinny ledge, balancing precariously on her toes. 

A little flurry of rocks crumbled out from underneath one of her feet and she gripped the wall fiercely, the danger of slipping off and splitting her head open on the flagstones below seeming more possible as the seconds went by. She felt one of her toenails crack from bearing all of her weight. Bit by bit she made her way across to the Captain's window.

At one point she'd seen a few guards emerge from the next building over and she stopped cold, but they didn't look up. They never looked up. 

The window stuck and she gave it a good shove with her shoulder before it would budge. A thorough sweep of the Captain's desk and the crammed bookshelf produced no hollowed-out book, and she decided to try his quarters instead, knowing full well that the Captain spent late evenings in the pub.

She crept to the adjoining door and pressed her ear against it. No snoring nor shuffling, and no candlelight from underneath. She swung open the door. Inside was filthy; parchment and scrolls strewn around, quills, books, half-empty bottles of ale on the desk. Stiff, wadded-up cloths on the nightstand. That day's leftover breakfast stale and forgotten. 

It did not take long for Kel to find the hollowed-out book. He hadn't hidden it very well, most likely under the assumption that no one would dare to come up into his private quarters. 

She dropped the ring into her pocket and left.

* * *

_v._  
Something was wrong. Downstairs, past the jailor and the prison cells, Branwen was not at her post. Neither were the guards. Before Kel could pass across the walkway into the sewers, the gate opened up ahead and she had nowhere to hide. She smothered one of the torches in the corner with her cloak and huddled in the shadows. Hopefully neither of the guards noticed it had gone out. 

They passed by quickly, distracted. All she could make out was, "—gates unlocked," and, "intruders." They disappeared through the door she had just come from and Kel rushed to the sewer entrance.

Branwen popped out at her like a ghost.

"By the Nine, if you had taken any longer I would have had to leave without you."

"What's happened?" Kel demanded. 

"They know. I'm not sure how but they found all the gates unlocked. They left to get more men, they're coming to search the sewers. Did you get it?"

"Yes. Let's get the hell out of here."

They fled into the sewers. The inside of Kel's left shoe squelched with wetness and she dimly remembered her broken toenail from that bloody ledge. Not too long after they came upon Artena and Camila, looking grim and waiting for them in the stone corridor. Camila's face glowed bright in the light of their torch.

"Do you have it?" Artena asked. 

Kel nodded. "We need to leave. Now." 

"Were you spotted by anyone?"

"Not a soul."

It was quiet down in the sewers, save for the crackle of Artena's torch and the occasional drip of water, so when the Imperial guards began to climb down the metal rungs ahead of them, it was easy to hear them from far off.

"They've come in from the street," Branwen hissed. There were many entrances to the sewer, and the guards had wised up, thinking that if there were trespassers they might head them off before they reached the exit grate. 

"We'll have to go another way. Come," Artena said quietly, snuffing her torch in shallow water. Suddenly Artena's over-preparedness seemed a lifesaver, as she would no doubt have memorized the sewer's layout. Between all of the stairs and tunnels and underground canals, everything looked identical to Kel despite all that time studying Artena's maps and she couldn't have found her way out of this labyrinth if her life depended on it. Which, in this case, it did. 

Artena led them left, away from the guards, and looking over her shoulder Kel could see the faint circle of light cast from the guards' torches. Between their light and their blundering footsteps, it would be easy to tell where to stay away from. 

"This is bad, this is bad—" Camila muttered nervously.

"Shut up," Artena told her from between clenched teeth.

"They're between us and the exit!" she whispered back.

"Don't you think I know that? Be quiet."

Artena led the way through the shadows, followed closely by Branwen, still in her ridiculous tattered damsel costume, bow drawn. It occurred to Kel that she should have already done the same, as she took up the rear and was meant to cover them. 

Kel's quiver was loaded with her new silver arrows that she'd purchased the last time they were in Chorrol. They felt sleek and deadly to the touch. She hadn't gotten to use them yet, and hoped that she wouldn't have to. 

They made their way through the tunnels for what seemed like ages. Kel couldn't tell if they were being led in a circle or to a different exit entirely.

A burst of noise down the right passage, and Artena stopping them and crouching in the darkness, finger on her lips. 

"—waste of our time, this is," a man said. "No one comes down here."

The men's footsteps scuffed loudly against the cavernous walls, and soon they had cleared off.

"There should be a gate here," Artena said, hurrying down the next passage. They passed a heap of dilapidated barrels and crates and an iron cast fence stood between them and freedom. Kel could smell the fresh night air already.

It was locked.

"Camila," Artena said. She sounded mostly calm but by now Kel could recognize the hint of tension in her voice. 

"Alright, I've got it." Camila shifted to the front and knelt to inspect the lock. Unwrapping her lockpicks, she set to work testing out different sizes. It became clear very quickly that she was not quite herself, tapping her foot against the stone and mumbling. 

Camila's hands shook wildly. Unnaturally. Like they were dead and limp attached to flailing marionette strings. This did not bode well for her usual method of precision. 

The tumblers refused to click into place, and with her fingers jumping like they were no amount of coaxing from Camila seemed to change this. The rest of the group grew antsy. This was unusual for Kel to see; Camila may have been squeamish, but nerves had never hindered her talent for getting through locks.   
"Anytime, Camila," Artena whispered after several minutes.

Another hollow click, and she cursed at the gate, digging for a different pick to try.

A faint orange glow of a torch bloomed from one of the tunnels behind them. Artena drew her axe. Camila's hands continued to shake, preventing her from working the tumblers correctly.

"How's it coming?" Branwen breathed.

"Almost."

Kel drew an arrow into her bow and the torch light grew closer and closer. She could hear three, maybe four men. 

She pictured their little marauding gang all rotting in an Imperial prison, that is if they weren't cut down on the spot, and suddenly eight hundred septims didn't seem like near enough.

"Camila," Artena said again. She had begun to lose her composure.

"I'm trying, you great ugly brute."

Kel motioned to Branwen. "Do you think your distraction would still work?"

Artena cut in before she could answer. "No, not here in this dead end. They're already suspicious and looking for whoever picked the locks. So am I, as a matter of fact. Could've sworn she was just here."

Camila could not respond to this snark as the guards were growing too close for them to whisper any more. Kel readied her bow, watching Artena for cues.

"I've got it, I've got it," Camila hissed urgently, fumbling with the leather wrap around her picks. The gate opened with a loud screech. 

"Down there!" 

Their position given away, none of them bothered to be stealthy any longer. 

"Quickly, get through." Artena practically shoved them through the gate, and Camila turned around and slammed it shut behind them, jamming and breaking off one of her picks into the lock. They ran into the massive drainpipe, their footsteps splashing through the ankle-deep water, and Kel heard the moment the guards hit the gate. They had a key, of course, but were unable to use it with the lock jammed.

A flurry of arrows made thwipping noises past them and Branwen cried out, high and sharp, hitting the ground with a splash. Kel turned to go back for her but Artena got there first, heaving her up under her arms, Branwen's skirts dripping and sodden. Kel let loose her arrow but they were sitting ducks in the straight tunnel and Artena swept Branwen up in a fluid motion that impressed even Kel and they raced for the exit, letting the guards fumble with the lock. 

Once out of range and back in the cool air under the sky, Artena set Branwen down and Kel looped one of her arms around her neck to help her walk into the trees. The guards never came out of the sewer to follow them, and they limped away as far as they could get. 

"Easy, easy," Kel said as she helped lower Branwen to the ground. 

Branwen sucked in air between her teeth as they inspected the arrow embedded into the fleshy part of the back of her thigh through her dress. 

"It'll have to be pulled out."

"Obviously," Branwen spat. "Just do it already."

"It's going to hurt," Artena said with an apprehension Kel had not seen before.

"Yes, I _know_," Branwen growled like a feral cat. 

Artena hesitated again and pulled out a hide flask from her tunic and offered it to Branwen, who yanked it from her fingers and tipped back the remainder of its contents.

"Ooh, I can't watch this," Camila said, rocking back and forth on her heels.

"Then go somewhere else!" Artena snapped without looking up. 

Artena grasped the arrow firmly as close as she could get it to her thigh and looked shaken at the unholy scream that ripped itself from Branwen's lungs. The arrow was barbed, with a curved hook going the opposite direction like a fishhook, meant to snag the flesh on its way out. It took Artena two great yanks to free it from Branwen's leg.

"Imperial bastards," Kel said.

Tired of the wet squelching, Kel pulled off her own shoe, filled with blood from her injured toenail. She could see to it later. 

The arrow wound bled freely, alarmingly so, and Branwen ordered a handkerchief be tied up around her thigh to stem the blood flow—no doubt something she had read in a book. Kel used her cloak, now ruined from the scorch mark when she'd had to smother the torch back in the sewer, and ripped off a long strip. 

As Kel tightened the cloth around Branwen's leg underneath her skirts as instructed, she couldn't help but picture Camila back in the tunnels, running straight for the exit after Branwen had fallen, not even stopping to look back.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back with another chapter, rather short but i promise the next two updates will be full of action and drama. i've finally had some time/inspiration to make some more progress on this. 
> 
> i made some character aesthetics for our marauders, so expect those in the next update as well.

* * *

_i._  
Branwen's recovery was slow. 

Kel scoured through Corwin's book, reading up on plants that could help. Vervain to stop bleeding. Leaves from Lady's Mantle and crushed Mugwort seeds. She boiled and steeped garlic with witch hazel to clean the deep puncture wound. 

"Keep it covered always," Kel told her. "You don't want the outside of it to start healing before the inside."

They had to move their camp as far away from the Imperial City as they could manage with Branwen's injury. 

When it was time, Kel accompanied Artena to the Faregyl Inn to deliver the ring as promised. The inn sat on the Green Road, south of Imperial City. They hiked down from their camp in the sticky, oppressive heat of the summer, cicadas buzzing and hummingbirds thrumming steadily around the flowers. 

"What are we going to do once Branwen is healed?" she asked Artena.

"I won't have any idea until I speak to some informants. This foolish man's gold will keep us sitting pretty for quite some time. Perhaps we could take some time off." 

Kel cracked a smile. "You don't care for inactivity any more than I do."

"No, but the others do. My restless nature is not their burden to bear." By now they could see the inn at the bottom of the hill nestled in the greenery. "Maybe we'll take a visit to the seaside."

They had steadily avoided Anvil upon learning Kel's objection to returning home. Branwen couldn't withstand the warm temperatures besides. For the most part, they respected Kel's privacy and she had told them basically nothing about her life before she met them. Only Branwen knew what had happened to her brother. 

"Think this man will actually have our exorbitant payment?" Kel asked.

"If he doesn't, he'll find his throat slit in the night."

At the inn, the man looked positively giddy. Artena cut quite a daunting figure, all business, drawn up to her full height in her finest armor, black eyes gleaming. 

"I hear there was a bit of a ripple in the barracks last week," the man said with a toothy grin as they settled at the table across from him. Kel was on her guard, surreptitiously scanning the inn's patrons for anybody that looked out of place. Eight hundred septims was a sum not many would easily part with. Nobody appeared to pay them any attention.

"Well?" the man continued when Artena didn't answer. He drummed his fingers against the table.

"We have what you asked us to acquire. You will show us the gold before we part with it."

He reached under the table and drew out several fat cloth pouches tied up with a bit of twine. "It was no easy feat coming up with the amount agreed upon."

"Yes, well, we weren't exactly having a stroll through paradise now that you mention it."

"No, I suppose not."

Kel noticed somebody all the way in the back corner on the east wall. Somebody with strange body language. Tense with eavesdropping and anticipation. 

Artena was about to produce the ring—concealed, in case anybody saw, but Kel tapped her foot twice against Artena's underneath the table. Their code was simple: one for north, two for east, three for south, and four for west. Artena's hand stilled above her pocket. 

"Let's have a look, then. Haven't got all day," the man said.

"Tell me, do you take me for a fool?" Artena asked, crossing her arms. The battle axe strapped to her back shifted with the movement. 

He had the nerve to look irritated. "What kind of game are you playing, wench? We had a bargain."

"And was your man in the back left corner part of the bargain?" Artena hissed. 

His face grew alarmed; Artena had not looked in the back corner herself and it made her look all the more impressive. He faltered. "Just a bit of backup in case you tried anything funny."

She leaned forward. "I'll show you funny. You're going to send him away. And we're all going to go outside and watch him leave. Then you will get your ring."

"You're not alone, are you?" he argued, nodding his head to Kel. "What, don't you speak?" 

Kel remained silent, knowing that her refusal to engage only increased their intimidation tactic.

Finally, he looked to the man in the corner and jerked his chin toward the door. They all rose to leave. The man in the corner wore a hooded cloak and looked rather surprised when told to move along the path.

"I'll meet you after I'm through here," he said to him.

When the man's partner was a mere black speck on the horizon, he turned his green eyes to Artena. "Can we get on with it now? I'm starting to think you don't even have it. And after you came so highly recommended."

She produced the signet ring, dazzling in the sunlight and the man's eyes popped at the sight of it, previous animosity forgotten.

"This will be the end of his career!" he said with glee. "Or at least it will be when it turns up in possession of the local prostitute. Captain of the guard paying for a woman with the Count's heirloom? He'll be ruined."

Artena could barely keep herself from rolling her eyes and wasn't satisfied until he'd passed the heavy coin pouches over to Kel. 

"Walk after your friend. Don't try to contact us again."

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively, eyes glued to the signet ring. 

* * *

_ii._  
On their way back to camp, Artena split up the money.

"This is more than my share," Kel said, alarmed. She scooped up the extra and tried to hand it back, but Artena refused.

"And? Why shouldn't you have the bigger sum? You did all of the work. Took the greatest risk between us."

"Not all the work. And we always split everything four ways."

"It is a far different circumstance to get arrested for trespassing in the sewers versus getting arrested for trespassing in the Imperial Legion. You were the only one who had to cross that threshold. Without you there would be no payment at all."

She didn't speak these words in a tone of reverence or praise; she simply stated what she believed to be the bare truth, but Kel felt a touch of awkward embarrassment at her commendation regardless.

"Just take it. You've more than proven your worth. Unlike some of us."

They'd begun to walk again, and Kel looked over at the subtle tightness of Artena's jaw, like she was clenching her teeth.

"You blame Camila for what happened to Branwen." Artena may not have said it in so many words, but her hostility toward Camila had reached disproportionate heights since the sewer, every word and order spoken to her laced with a sharp thorn. 

There was a significant pause before Artena answered. "Yes, in a way. In my heart, that is. This is not the first time her weakness for skooma has endangered us. But in my head, logically, I blame myself. We camped for weeks before this mission, never setting foot in a city. I knew exactly how long it had been since Camila had last indulged, and I had seen the side effects before when the skooma leaves her body. I knew just how irritable and groggy she could become—had seen in the past how she couldn't keep her hands still when she craved it. Seen how badly they shook. I should have known not to entrust her with our survival, that something like this could happen."

"_That's_ why she couldn't open the lock?"

Quiet amusement danced in her eyes when she glanced over at Kel. "You and I both know she could have picked that measly iron contraption bound and with her eyes closed any other day of the week."

Artena heaved an uncharacteristic sigh, revealing the weight of her thoughts. "And that is why I blame myself in the end. And why your bonus is coming out of my share."

Kel wanted to protest further but knew that Artena's fortitude would far outlast her own. 

* * *

_iii._  
"What is that book you're always flipping through?" Camila asked her one night. 

Kel reclined in her bedroll; they all sat around the fire after a dinner of crispy fish and wild strawberries. Camped in the Great Forest for nearly two weeks while Branwen's leg healed, they were reduced to solely hunting and gathering for their meals. It was also customary for them to steer clear of cities after they had just committed any sort of crime, and their little adventure in the barracks was so far the most brazen theft they'd pulled off yet. No doubt the Thieves' Guild ground their teeth with envy. It was quite an insult that the most reputable band of marauders in Cyrodiil remained unaffiliated with any official guild.

Kel shut Corwin's book with a snap. "It's nothing of consequence. Something from back home."

She ran her fingers along the smooth leather cover. Each page was reserved for a different plant. Corwin had painted a little miniature of each one and listed its medicinal properties and how best to prepare its leaves or roots or flowers. The very first page, _Goldenrod_, had been done by her mother, loopy feminine notes handwritten beside the little picture. Their mother had not survived long after bearing Kel, and as such she had no memory of her. 

The next evening it was as if somebody had violently ripped the clouds apart—a raging thunderstorm poured down on them, lightning crackling against the angry charcoal sky. The wind struck their faces like whips and they were forced to seek shelter in some dark cave nearby, dismantling their meager tents before they were sucked away into the sky. 

Artena carried Branwen's tent canvas along with her own as Branwen still hobbled around with a bit of a limp. Kel set to work striking the flint near the end of one of their torches.

"Hurry up with that," Camila said. "It's black as pitch in here." 

The air in the cave was so thick with moisture that it felt like every lungful might drown them. 

Once the torch was lit they ventured a little further into the cave so that their fire wouldn't attract anybody out in the woods. Kel and Artena did a quick sweep of the rest of the cave to ensure they were alone. Kel sank an arrow into a couple of frenzied sewer rats, but beyond that the cave was empty. 

While Artena broke apart some old barrels to use as firewood, Camila set in on complaining. She had, in fact, been doing so constantly during their time in the forest. Everything upset her. They hadn't heard a sour word from Branwen and she was the one who'd been shot with a damn arrow. But with Camila it was as if she'd never been happy a day in her life—she was bored, she was hungry, she was tired, the rest of them stank of sweat and it was making her ill, and what good was scoring such a large payout if they couldn't even go and spend it?

Kel thought that Camila would be happy when they came back from Faregyl Inn with their payment, but once Artena told them they had to hide out for a while Camila's mood went black. 

"Cease your prattling," Artena said now after they'd listened to Camila list the injustices against her for the last quarter of an hour. "Find something to make yourself useful with or go to sleep and spare us all of your senseless ramblings."

This was more effort than Artena usually put forth to chastise her and Camila scrambled up from her bedroll and flung herself down one of the nearby passages with a loud hiccupy sob.

Artena wouldn't give Camila the satisfaction of talking about her now that she had left the room and instead began to polish the blade of her axe. 

Having already wiped clean the arrows used on the rats, Kel threaded a needle to begin mending a rip in her stockings. The rain softened to a hush outside. She could only hear the crackle of their campfire and Branwen turning pages in her book.

At some point in the night Kel woke to Branwen's harsh whispering. She jerked up and saw that the fire was almost out, which meant that it was still Branwen's watch. Artena was already on her feet, crouching in the dim light and readying her axe. Kel strained her ears for danger and did her best to shake off the stupor of sleep as she readied an arrow. 

Someone was coming. 

Moving in the narrow passage between them and the exit. The dying fire glinted off his cuirass as he stepped out of the passage into the wide cavern and as soon as Kel registered his drawn claymore, mismatched armor, and overall bedraggled appearance she let her arrow fly loose. This marauder was no friend to them.

Her aim was poor in the dark and the arrow glanced off his thick armor harmlessly and he charged forward. 

Another thwip, Branwen's arrow this time. A clash of weapons. Kel drew the dagger from her ankle and saw the man sparring with Artena, the red coals reflected in their blades. Kel leapt at him and sank the dagger into the fleshy part of his shoulder and his arm shot out, vaulting her across the cave onto the sharp rocks against the wall. 

A burst of pain throughout her side, her head jarring against the stone and she looked up to see Artena'a axe slicing through the flesh of his leg. Down he went, and Artena took the opportunity to land a fatal blow to his neck. A faster death than bleeding out at the leg, for certain.

Kel got up from the ground with a wince. No doubt wicked marks would paint her skin by tomorrow. "Is everybody alright?" 

The other two answered yes. A flurry of footsteps behind them and Camila appeared, looking sleepy and rubbing one eye with a balled-up fist. "What in Kynareth's name is all the commotion out here?"

* * *

_iv_.  
They headed south to Bravil two days later. Camila was not the only one of them to feel relieved. Each of them had a fair idea of what they'd like to spend their coin on (a proper bath being first and foremost—paddling around in lakes and rivers could only do so much after a while).

People's eyes seemed to linger on them in the inn. She was used to men staring when Branwen was around, but when Kel wandered the streets on her own and ducked into the armory and the book shop she could still feel the stares. Bravil was a city filled with criminals, and she supposed that word got around. How people knew who she was, she wasn't sure—supposing that was the reason for their attention. 

Back at the inn Kel fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as she dropped onto the bed. It felt like she slept for endless hours, the noisy bustle from downstairs weaving itself into her dreams and she didn't wake until she heard the soft click of her bedroom latch. Sitting up, she pushed the hair out of her eyes.

"I found them," said Branwen.

"What?"

"I've had a letter. From my friend in Skyrim. The Nords you seek are posted in Cheydinhal. They have been for some time."

There was a tightening, a clamp around her heart. Fully awake, she kicked off the blanket, suddenly feeling sick. She clutched her stomach and took a deep breath in. 

"Are you going to leave us?" Branwen asked. Kel flicked her gaze to hers. It was a fair question. 

"No," she said finally. Scrubbing a hand down her face, she stopped to think. She would stay with them as long as she could. But should she cross paths with the Nords, Kel could not guarantee her indifference. 

* * *

_v._  
"What are you doing?"

The next day when she went up to her room at the inn and pushed the door open she found Camila on her knees rummaging through Kel's travel pack. She'd only gone downstairs for an ale and the prospect of somebody entering her room in those ten minutes hadn't entered her mind. 

Camila leapt up. Smiling, red-cheeked. 

"Oh, _hello_," she said jovially.

"What," she snapped, "would possess you to go through my things?"

"I'm after a bit of those crumbled leaves you made into paste for Branwen. For pain."

Kel crossed her arms. "Hurt yourself, did you?"

"That I did." She held up a pale finger. "Needle went right into it while I was stitching up a shirt."

"You've never made a stitch in your life, Camila."

"You know everything about me suddenly, is that right? I'll have you know I did everybody's mending back at home."

Kel didn't believe this blatant falsehood for an instant and flicked her eyes to the pack on the ground, trying to recollect everything she had in there. Flint, thick shears, flay knife, little jars of pitch for the torches, the cooking pot they used over the campfire, dried herbs wrapped in parchment packets. Minor survival implements.

She drew her gaze back to Camila's and realized that probably she'd been looking for money, but Kel had taken too long to answer and Camila was already slinking away, saying something casual that she didn't quite catch on her way out.

* * *

  
_vi._  
Kel's chance came sooner than she would have thought—on a Fredas evening in Last Seed as the four of them sat for dinner at the inn. Branwen flipped a page in her book and Camila said, "It's considered very rude to read at the table. You carry on as if we're still out in the wild. Artena, you're so damn proper and up in arms about behavior all the time that I don't know why _you_ never say anything to her about it." She took a long drink of wine. "Well, I suppose I do know."

The table shook as Artena violently speared a slab of ham with her fork from the center of table, refilling her plate in silence. 

"Have you got anything for us?" Branwen asked with a tactful change of subject. She buttered a slice of bread and kept her book open on her knee.

"I have two leads. Neither of which I'm very keen to follow up on," Artena responded.

"Why is that?"

"One requires a two-week long expedition north into the Jerall Mountains, and the man who would be hiring us to do it is not a person I would care to associate with besides."

"Maybe we should. It's so cold up there we could finally release Branwen into her natural habitat." Camila snorted.

"And the other is word on a newly unearthed Ayleid ruin. _Very_ newly unearthed. Quite small."

"What's the catch?" Branwen asked.

"It's next to Cheydinhal."

"Chedyinhal, you say!" Camila was suddenly animated.

"What's wrong with going there?" Kel asked. Did Artena know about the Nord siblings? Had Branwen told her? She watched Branwen carefully to see if she gave anything away, but her expression remained passive.

"Camila's bounty is what's wrong," said Artena. "Camila's obscenely high bounty."

"Here we go," Camila sighed.

"What did you do?" Kel asked.

"That's an incredibly offensive question," Camila snapped.

"She corrupted the Count's son." Branwen did not look up from her book as she spoke. "Count Indarys's men found him in a skooma den she'd brought him to and the Count was absolutely furious. Assigned the bounty himself. Nine hundred septims."

"Nine hundred?" Kel repeated, incredulous. "That's on rank with murder."

"She's just lucky she was able to wriggle out through that back window."

"Yes, yes, have a good laugh, the lot of you. Farwil Indarys was a prat long before I happened to meet him."

"Nobody's disputing that, Camila," Artena said. 

"It's true, nobody likes him a bit."

"But that doesn't change the fact that it's a risk to be in the area."

"To hell with that." Camila popped a blackberry into her mouth. "We'll keep our heads down. Stay outside the city walls. If anything needs bought then we'll send Lady Fancy Feet here to get it." Kel supposed that was meant to be her. "I'll not be traipsing around the icy peaks living off rat meat and boiled snow for two weeks."

"There are surely better endeavors for us to turn our attention to," Artena said. "I'll send word to my other informants tomorrow and fish out some other jobs."

"That will take ages," Camila insisted. "I see no reason why we can't stick to a good old-fashioned ruin excavation. We could use the opportunity to stay out of the public's eye. No doubt we're all anxious to get moving again."

It was an odd day when Camila played the voice of reason but watching Artena consider her words sent a spark flaring inside Kel. A spark that held an echo of something like anticipation. Or was it dread? The thought that she might see the Nords. 

Make them suffer.

"Kel," Artena said her name forcefully.

She blinked. "What?"

"I said, what do you think? About Cheydinhal."

She couldn't know what Kel wanted to do. She wouldn't be giving her the chance.

Kel smiled. "Come to think of it, I've never been to Cheydinhal before."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and for the support i've gotten so far!!


	7. seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is branwen's moodboard: https://i.imgur.com/V3HlKbu.png
> 
> and camila's: https://i.imgur.com/v1Hqagk.png
> 
> and artena's: https://i.imgur.com/CS02hTA.png
> 
> and if any of you are interested in tracking the story's progress on the cyrodiil map, here's that as well: https://images.uesp.net/6/69/OB-map-Cyrodiil.jpg

_i._  
It was beautiful. They took the Blue Road up into Nibenay basin, the northeastern region of Cyrodiil. 

Plush green grass blanketed the fields, thick clumps of heather and primrose springing up around the trees and next to the rivers. The air was considerably cooler up here as they were winding down from summertime. 

Artena, using her region map, directed them to the village of Harlun's Watch, the high stone walls surrounding Cheydinhal visible from the little farm. A Bosmer named Aengvir agreed to put them up for a night, albeit reluctantly. 

The humble farmers had little to offer in the way of food. Kel was happy to spear some fish, but Camila begged her to go into the city and fetch a slab of beef and some sweetrolls, as she couldn't bear to eat another traveler's meal. Normally she wouldn't be too apt to humor her, but Camila was looking terrible and gaunt these days, worse than when they robbed the Imperial Office. Her clothes hung awkwardly off her sickly frame and the veins in the backs of her hands stood out. 

"Oh, go on then," Artena said, settling at the hearth with her tobacco pipe. "Bring Branwen along if you like."

"No, thank you. I'm tired." Branwen looked at Kel with a question in her eyes. Would she go after the Bjeldsen siblings? It was the first time she'd seen even a silent acknowledgement of their conversation. She'd expected Branwen to bring up the subject plenty of times when they had been alone, but instead she seemed remarkably unbothered by Kel's proclamation that she wanted to hunt down and murder her brother's killers. Branwen had spoken her part and left it at that. 

Kel left them and made the walk up to the Cheydinhal gate.

_Artena will drop you, you know._

She didn't want that. The four of them were unstoppable. She'd grown more fond of her life on the road marauding than she could have ever imagined. She'd no idea the vast possibilities that Cyrodiil could offer her, and once she'd taken the leap outside of her home, her world had expanded beyond the familiar horizon, stretching into the unknown. What would she do without them?

The guards at the front gate barely gave her a second glance (she'd swapped her leather armor for something inconspicuous—plain linen shirt tucked into a skirt.) A clear blue river ran right through the city, quaint stone bridges with little wooden roofs running across it. It was utterly picturesque and Kel took her time making her way down the cobblestone, becoming acquainted with the shops and houses. In Borba's Goods and Stores she picked up the food and restrained herself from making any excessive conversation. No need to draw attention to herself. 

Outside next to the chapel she heard some odd whispering and noticed two women huddled together with suspicious eyes glaring up at an abandoned house nearby. Rotting boards over the windows and a crumbling fence. Overgrown brambles with thorns. 

"I wish the Count would do something about it."

"Such an eyesore. I hate to see it on my daily walk."

"Do you suppose the rumors are true?"

"By the Nine, no. Not underneath all our noses. Impossible."

Back in Harlun's Watch outside the city she found Artena and Branwen hanging their freshly-washed clothes on a line and asked them where Camila was. 

"She's inside Aengvir's," Artena said, carefully wringing out a pair of trousers.

Dirt crunched underneath her shoes and she pushed open the door and heard a growl of frustration from inside. 

"Camila?" 

She was alone. She looked frenzied, crouched on the floor, the light from the fire illuminating the curve of her spine. The contents of their travel satchels were strewn around. 

"What are you doing in my things again?" Kel demanded.

"Where have you put it?" Camila shrieked. Dirty blonde hair whipped her face as she whirled on her. A log in the hearth crackled.

"Put what?"

"I had it yesterday and I _know_ you've taken it. I know all about your deceit! About how you lie and take extra wages that are meant to be mine! You're trying to push me out of the group and I'm not standing for it." Her voice rose high and screeching and for once there was color flooding her face.

"That's not true. What's gone missing?"

"Don't play ignorant," she drew out the syllables in a cruel lilt. "Give it to me."

"What," she snapped.

"Give me the skooma! Give it to me or I'll—"

"Gods, Camila, shut up." Really, but this was beyond ridiculous. "I haven't taken your rutting skooma and you're embarrassing yourself. Get a hold of yourself!"

She lunged for something near Kel's bag and brandished it up in the air, taunting. 

Corwin's book. 

"Put. It down." Kel felt something dangerous leap up at the pit of her stomach. Her teeth were clenched and she watched Camila dangle the leather cover between two fingers, chest heaving. 

"What the hell is all this noise?" Artena said from the doorway. Branwen stood behind her and took in the mess of their things scattered around. 

"Not so funny when it's something _you_ care about, is it?" Camila snarled. There was a challenge in Camila's eyes, defiance, daring her to make a move. Kel strode forward, boots clacking over the floorboards. 

She flung the book into the burning hearth. 

Flames curled around the pages. 

Kel rushed for it but Camila leapt forward, grappling with her. They were struggling and Kel was choking on curses and furious screams and Artena inserted herself instantly, breaking their hold on each other. By then the pages were blackened and it was too late to snatch up and Kel struggled uselessly against Artena's grip. "How could you! How could you burn his book! How could you—" More shouting and inarticulate obscenities and Aengvir appeared in the door with an angry cry and a demand for them to take their things and leave at once.

The last possession of her family's. The only reminder of her sibling. The mother she never knew. 

Gone.

* * *

  
_ii._  
Kel slumped at the far end of the Newlands Lodge. She wore her hood and nobody paid attention to the girl drooped over her fourth ale. Or was it fifth? The place bustled with activity and laughter and conversation. Clinking of tankards against plates. The scrape of wooden chair legs. Bottles uncorked. 

She had no idea how long she'd been in there but by the look of the sky whenever the door swung open it was very late into the night. 

Artena had no patience for squabbling. She valued self-control and disliked any outburst of uncontrolled emotion and had given Kel a rough shove toward the city, ordering her to cool off. 

She didn't know where Camila was. And she didn't care. What she'd done was unforgivable. If Artena hadn't intervened there was no telling what might have happened. 

She'd been staring into her ale for some time, but when she looked up she saw a flash of silver. 

A delicate tattoo.

An ornate knife. 

_Toralf Bjeldsen._ Her veins turned to ice as she watched him, as if he'd poured it into her from his fierce blue eyes. So they were here. 

He looked exactly the same, like he hadn't aged a day. How many more lives had they destroyed since she'd last seen them? It had been over two years since her brother's death but as she laid eyes on Toralf it might have happened yesterday. 

Metia was nowhere to be found but she had to be around here somewhere.

It wouldn't do to burst forward, causing a scene. The old Kel might have done that. She had wised up since then. Had a bit of stealth training that she fully intended to use. 

So she watched. Watched how Toralf kept mostly to himself, only nodding to the man behind the counter once. Watched how he carried himself: cocky and completely at ease. His guard was down. He was comfortable here, and wouldn't be expecting anything adverse. Watched how the innkeeper uncorked a special blue bottle from behind the counter to pour his drinks.

She followed him. She hugged the shadows next to the buildings. Didn't make a sound. He was staying in a house to the east of the little bridge, beyond the chapel. The windows were lit up and shadows passed in front of them often enough that she could tell at least three people were inside.

Back at the Newlands Lodge, she removed her hood and sidled up to the counter.

"How can I help you?" the innkeeper asked.

"I'm feeling a bit homesick. I was wondering if you had anything to drink from outside the region. Maybe something from the north?"

"Happens to be I have a specially purchased mead from Skyrim. Got a couple of Nords in here the last few months and they won't drink anything but. No one else seems to like it much. It'll cost you twice, though."

He pulled out the blue bottle from behind the counter. The one he'd poured into Toralf's mug. 

Kel shook her head as if it just wouldn't do. "Thanks anyway," she said, turning away. 

She felt the corners of her lips turn upward. It was almost too easy.

* * *

  
_iii._  
The fire Kel started outside Newlands Lodge was small, contained, and strategically placed. 

First she filled the bucket at the well behind the kitchen garden and doused the wooden eaves above the side window. The lodge was mostly stone but she still didn't want the roof to go up in flames. She left the bucket at the well. Rearranging some rocks to help keep the fire from spreading, she used her shears to trim away some of the shrubbery by the window. 

After all the practice she'd had Kel could start a fire damn near anywhere and she struck her flint into the pile of brown sticks she'd gathered. Once the evidence of kindling had burned away, she threw the waxy leaves of the shrub trimmings onto it to create a deceivingly large amount of smoke. 

There was still a rowdy group inside which made it easy for her to slip back in and casually seat herself in an empty chair on the opposite wall. She watched billows of smoke outside the window and waited for the orange tendrils of flame to creep up. 

Once they were visible through the glass she called, _fire!_ and pointed with an outstretched finger.

People tripped over themselves to get safely out of the lodge, mugs and chairs tipping over in a frenzy and the innkeeper was shouting at everybody to get out of his way, get the hell out of his way so he could put it out.

The door banged behind them and there was more screaming and commotion outside and Kel didn't hesitate to stride behind the counter and find the blue bottles of mead. She plucked the first two from the shelf, uncorking them swiftly.

From out of her pack she pulled out a little red bottle. _Cherry pit extract_, it read. She measured a spoon full into each of the bottles and replaced their corks, lining them neatly just the way she'd found them.

She was out the back door before anybody had even run for the water bucket. 

* * *

  
_iv._  
Kel left Cheydinhal and found Artena and Branwen waiting for her at the bend in the road outside the city walls.   
Branwen's hands were clenched against her emerald-colored dress. 

"What's happened?"

"Camila's been _arrested_," Artena choked out. She began to pace, kicking up dust from the road beneath her boots. 

"What did she do this time?"

"Nothing. The guards remembered her, is all. Hard to forget somebody the Count personally placed a nine hundred bounty on."

"I told her," Artena spat. "Told her to stay out of the city and away from the guards."

"And she just couldn't listen, could she?" Kel said with no little amount of venom.

"We shouldn't have come here," said Artena. "This was a mistake."

"She deserves to rot in there."

Artena stared for a beat. "I don't think you understand. She won't make it through this. We won't be able to just hole up somewhere for a month like we did with Branwen and wait for her to serve her time. This has gone beyond the captain of the guard. The Count himself is issuing a sentence and he's not known for his leniency. Not when it comes to his son. Word is that Farwil's _still_ struggling with the addiction, the blame of which I have no doubt will fall onto Camila. They'll never release her. She can't stay in there."

"I'm finished with her." Even as she said it she could feel her resolve start to falter at Artena's distress seeping through the cracks in her rigid expression.

"She will die. Whether some unfortunate 'accident' befalls her in her cell or she completely wastes away for good from withdrawal or lack of nutrition."

"And what am I to do about it?"

"We need to get her out."

"I won't help."

"Please." Artena's voice wavered.

Kel dug her fingernails into her palm. Artena was trying to tell her that this was bigger than her anger. That a life was at stake. The choice should have been easy. But it took longer than she would have liked to admit before she answered. "I'll do it for you," she told Artena. 

It was petty, this need to clarify her reasoning behind it. Because in the grand scheme of things, her motivation wasn't important, only her willingness was.

"It has to be soon. Tonight."

Branwen cleared her throat, a delicate cough meant to jostle Artena back into a place of reason. 

"Tomorrow then. We need—gods, we need...the layout of the Cheydinhal prison."

"I'll see to it," Branwen said immediately.

"How are you going to pull that off?" Kel asked.

"Same as I always do. Trick some poor bastard into thinking he's going to bed a beautiful woman."

All night Kel sat with Artena in the Bridge Inn with their backs up against the stone hearth. An icy wind cut through the city. Artena had spent the past hour scratching notes and ideas into her journal before abandoning it on the floor beside her. She had one knee up, the other leg stretched out in front of her. 

Kel still intended to carry out her original plan. Timing had become somewhat of a problem, however. The lights in the Nords' house had gone out, indicating that they wouldn't be in to the lodge for their drinks until at least tomorrow. 

But once they broke Camila out of jail they would need to leave immediately. It wasn't good enough to just poison the mead and then be on her way. There wasn't enough poison to finish the job, for one thing. She'd only intended to weaken them. For their stomachs to clench in on themselves. For them to go home early, distracted. Vulnerable.

"We shouldn't have come," Artena mumbled not for the first time that night. Her stress level had reached new heights. She loved to plan meticulously, so having to throw a hastily-laid scheme together the night before took its toll. Branwen was still out, trying to get a peek inside the prison. Or at least seducing somebody who knew the layout.

"It will be alright," Kel assured her, also not for the first time that night. 

"I _knew_. I knew she would try something careless and I deluded myself into thinking that this time would be different. That we could handle it. That if we just kept an eye on her, we'd be alright."

"She's a grown woman."

"That doesn't mean she'll act like it. Ah, but that's the thing about Camila, she'll never stop to think about how her behavior affects others." Artena tipped over a bit onto her elbow as she spoke recklessly and it was only then that Kel realized she was drunk, drunker than she'd ever seen her. "Each and every one of us holds the potential for downfall—a weakness. A decisive weakness that overshadows the rest. And Camila's is her selfishness."

She stopped and Kel listened to the low chatter from the other side of the inn. The fire was warm behind them.

"We've all tried to help her. Back in Chorrol I offered to help her save her money, to put it away into savings so she could start a little stockpile since she's always wasting every septim the second she lays hands on it, but of course she hit the ceiling. Always paranoid, always suspicious."

Kel thinks back to the argument she'd overheard: _Thieving, reptilian bitch! _

"I suppose you must have us all sorted out," Kel said.

"Suppose I have." Artena grew philosophical.

"What do you think Branwen's shortcoming is?"

"She has no compassion." 

Kel was stunned she'd answered so quickly and with such contempt. Artena's lip snarled and she tipped back her mug to finish off her drink. Her face was cast in shadow with the light at their backs. "She possesses a heartless vanity that she uses to her advantage at the expense of others." It was very far from what she'd expected her to say. To Kel, Branwen seemed indifferent to many situations, but lacking in compassion? She wasn't sure. 

"And yours?" Kel asked. She was too cowardly to inquire after herself. 

"I would have thought that obvious. My harsh judgment, of course." She tilted her head up to stare at the ceiling. "I hold others to my own impossible standards. I know nothing of what it means to nurture, and for that I expect never to be loved. This is the closest I'll ever have to family."

Family.

Hope struck within her. Hope that Artena would forgive her for what she planned to do, for the sake of keeping them all together.


End file.
